


Autistic Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

by Fayanora



Series: Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Harry, Autistic Harry Potter, Black Character(s), Black Harry, Black Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Black Male Character, Child Abuse, F/M, Female Character of Color, Geeky, Good Slytherins, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Muslim Character, Past Child Abuse, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, luna introduced early
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 101,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7681414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fayanora/pseuds/Fayanora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic. Third book of Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals, now complete. ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/3672438/chapters/8119311 ). Fourth book in the series will be "Autistic Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Autistic Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

 

**Chapter 1: Escape**

 

At Number 4, Privet Drive, in Surrey, a nice young black man named Harry Potter, less than a month from being a teenager, was packing the few of his belongings he'd not already unpacked after a mere fortnight at home with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He was glad for it, too; even with the spells in place to protect him from them, even with Netty around to make sure he was being fed enough, the Dursleys were always unpleasant, and had been even more so this time around, due to a phone call he'd received from his friend Ron Weasley his first week back.

Ron, being a wizard, didn't know how to use a phone, and had shouted into the mouthpiece so loudly Harry could hear it from the dining room. Naturally, his uncle had bellowed back. It was only the enchantments in place and Netty's presence that forced the beefy man's anger to be replaced by fear and remembering when he'd rounded on his nephew and come face to face with a house elf instead. His expression had frozen into a mix of the two emotions, then he'd stormed off without saying a word. Harry had been tolerating similar looks from all the Dursleys for the past week since then, so he was especially glad to be leaving.

As if that wasn't enough, he'd overheard the Dursleys discussing inviting Aunt Marge over for an extended stay. He was very glad that they were both agreed it was impossible until Harry was out of the house, and found himself very relieved to have Netty and Dumbledore's magic to protect him while he was here. Aunt Marge – who was Uncle Vernon's sister and so not a blood relative, thankfully – hated Harry worse than his aunt and uncle did, and never missed an opportunity to express this hatred. Harry had enough bad memories from her visits to last three lifetimes, so he was quite glad to be leaving long before she would be arriving. Not even a brief thought of revenge was enough to make him even consider staying behind a moment longer than he needed to. If that meant Aunt Marge would be convinced he had been sent back early to St. Brutus's School for Incurably Criminal Boys – the school the Dursleys told everyone he went to – for bad behavior, then so be it.

Hedwig – his owl – squawked in her cage, not liking to be cooped up.

“Sorry girl,” he said sympathetically, “but Dumbledore will be here soon to pick us up. Once we're at Ron's place, I'll let you fly free, okay?”

She blinked with annoyed acceptance of this, and settled down.

There was a ring of the doorbell. Harry went downstairs and heard arguments; his relatives didn't want to answer the door, knowing who it would be. So Netty finally shouted back at them in her high-pitched little voice.

“FINE! I IS GETTING THE DOOR THEN FOR THE DURSLEY FAMILY, THEN IS I?”

Before the Dursleys could protest, Harry heard the door open.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir. Welcome back. Come in, come in please, sir.”

“Thank you very much, Netty. You are most kind.”

Having confirmation that it was Dumbledore, Harry went back to his room to grab his trunk.

“Locomotor trunk,” he said, pointing his wand at his trunk, forgetting he wasn't technically allowed to do magic, and forgetting that there had been an exception put on this house for Netty and the protective spells. It was only when the Dursleys shrieked at his blatant display of magic, and he spotted Dumbledore again, that he remembered.

“Er... oops.”

“'Oops' what, Harry?” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “I saw nothing unusual.”

Harry canceled the spell anyway, and let Netty grab the trunk and disapparate with it in tow, the loud CRACK! making the Dursleys jump in fright. Dudley took off running for his room.

“So, Harry, that was everything of yours in there?”

“Yes, sir. I've been ready to go since yesterday.”

“Good. Then take my hand, Harry, and we will leave your relatives alone.”

He did, and they twirled on the spot, disapparating with a soft pop. And Harry once more felt the sensation of being squeezed through a very tight tube before appearing in the grass outside the Burrow. Having purposefully foregone his most recent meal, his retching didn't bring much up.

Hedwig screeched at him the moment he stood up. He paused to wipe his mouth.

“Yes, girl, I'm coming. Hold your hippogriffs.”

When he opened her cage, she immediately flew out, looking very happy to be free, and went off hunting.

“Feeling better, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Dumbledore said. “Let us go find Molly now.”

Mrs. Weasley, and the other Weasleys, were all at the dinner table. Harry had arrived just as she was pouring stew into everyone's bowls. He was pleased to notice they'd set a place for him.

“Hello, Harry my dear!” Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully. “Go wash up and then you can sit down, you're just in time for dinner.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, then went off to the loo to wash up.

When he came back and sat down, the pot of stew magically tipped some stew into his bowl. It smelled delicious, and tasted even better than it smelled; Mrs. Weasley was an excellent cook. He wondered if she'd done well in Potions in school, since Potions is a lot like cooking.

As he ate, he was oblivious to the fact that Ginny was pointedly looking anywhere but at him. He was enjoying his meal far too much. But once he got enough food in his stomach, he started looking up, and noticed he was sitting right next to Percy. He began to talk with Percy. He liked talking with Percy; he had some suspicions about Percy having Asperger's as well, since the older boy liked to talk all about the things he'd achieved or was interested in to anyone who would hold still long enough, and didn't mind when Harry did the same thing back at him. But then, that was only one potential Asperger's trait, a trait that Asperger's shared with quite a few other conditions. And even neurotypical people could have that character trait, too.

Percy was currently talking all about his upcoming N.E.W.T.'s, the tests seventh years had to take to get good careers. Percy was taking a lot of subjects, and had a particular affinity for arithmancy, something that interested Harry as well, as he was going to take it this year. Harry always appreciated any chance to learn from older students, but a lot of what Percy was talking about was years ahead of him and made no sense to him as a result.

“Oh for goodness sake, Perce, shut up already,” one of the twins said, exasperated.

“Excuse you, but Percy was talking and I was listening.”

“You could stand to listen to that prattle?”

“It was a lot more interesting than a lot of what you go on about,” Harry snapped back.

“Oooh, Harry's defending Perce. Does Harry lurrrve Percy?”

Harry looked at him, confused. “What are you on about?”

“Yeah, Fred, that was lame. Everyone knows Harry and Luna are an item,” said George.

“Doesn't mean Harry can't be involved in a torrid love square.”

“Love square?” asked George.

“Yeah, a love square. Because if Harry fancies Luna and Percy, and Ginny fancies Harry, that's four people, so not a love triangle, but a love square.”

“'Love quadrangle' would fit the spirit of the term better, and would be more accurate,” Harry said. “But I'm not in love with anyone. Luna's a friend, and so is Percy. He listens to my prattle, so I listen to his. It's as simple as that.”

“And I am grateful, Harry,” said Percy pompously, “that there's someone in my life who gets as excited about things as I do, someone who listens to me.”

“What's a quadrangle?” asked Ron.

“Fancy-pants way of saying a square, Ronniekins,” said George.

“Yeah, triangle has three angles. Quadrangle has four.”

“Not all quadrangles are squares,” Harry said. “There's rectangles, for one. And diamonds, among others.”

“There we go, then; 'love rectangle.'” Fred said.

“Love diamond,” countered George.

“Oh for heaven's sake, would you lot just eat and stop arguing with each other?” Mrs. Weasley asked, exasperated.

With a few grumbles, they went back to eating. A few minutes passed before Harry and Percy went back to their discussion. Percy was talking with him now about entry-level arithmancy stuff, which Harry was having more luck with, as it was basically just primary-school level maths.

 

That night, in Ron's room, he got out his two-way mirror and used it to talk with Luna, as he'd done every day of the holidays. The two of them talked about many things, including about Harry visiting Luna at her house. He hadn't yet had a chance to meet her father or see her house.

And so the next morning, he ate quickly and then asked Mrs. Weasley about it.

“Mrs. Weasley? May I go visit Luna at her house?”

“Oh, I don't know, dear,” she said, thinking.

“You let me go to the village library last time I was here,” he pointed out. “She lives in the village.”

“Hmm... well, go ask Percy if he'll go with you again. If he will, then you can. If not, then no. Unless you can find someone else responsible like Percy.”

“Okay, Mrs. Weasley,” he said.

He went upstairs and knocked gently on Percy's door. The door opened sharply and an irate Percy looked out, but softened when he saw Harry.

“Oh, hello there, Harry. I thought you were Fred or George bothering me again.”

“Hi. I wanted to visit Luna at her house today, and your mum said I could only do it if I could get you or someone equally responsible to come with me.”

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but paused, thinking.

“Well, I was going to write another letter to Penny, but I daresay she's busy with things at the moment. I guess I can do it later.”

“Letters? You mean you and Penelope don't have a two-way mirror to talk with each other through?”

Percy turned red. “Yes, well, that would be nice, but you know, the expense of it. So we use letters.”

“Oh, okay. So, um... are you coming with me?”

“What? Oh, yes Harry. Yes I am. I'm interested to see Xeno's house, too.”

He and Percy went downstairs, where they met Ron and the twins. Percy scowled at the twins.

“You two going to the village, we hear? George and I might as well go with you, we want to stop at the library.”

Percy relaxed a little. “I suppose that's okay. And you, Ron? Are you coming, too?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “I'm curious about Luna's house and her dad, too. Unless you and Luna want to be alone together?”

Harry's dark face went momentarily darker in embarrassment, “No, that's fine. Ron, you can come with Percy and me.”

And so a few minutes later, the five boys were headed off to Luna's house, Harry using the two-way mirror to get directions to it from Luna. Despite a few wrong turns, they found it. The twins, having decided they wanted to see the place before going to the library, were there.

“It looks like a giant chess rook,” Ron said.

The twins chuckled. “Oh yeah, this is the Lovegood house alright,” George said. “From what I've heard of the Lovegoods, this is exactly their style.”

There was a bush on the property as well, with floating fruits. A sign next to it indicated they were 'dirigible plums.' One other sign nearby identified Xenophilius Lovegood as the editor of a magazine called The Quibbler (which Harry remembered was an... interesting read), and another said 'Pick your own mistletoe.'

“Well, we've seen the place now, so Fred and I are heading off to the library,” George said. They waved the twins goodbye, and proceeded to the gate and opened it.

The path from the gate to the door was overgrown with a variety of plants, some of them possibly dangerous. They were all glad to see the door at last, which was thick, black, studded with iron nails, and had an eagle-head door knocker. Harry reached out and knocked three times with the knocker.

Harry had hardly let go of the knocker when the door opened, and Luna stood there in baby-blue robes, smiling at Harry.

“Harry, how nice to see you,” Luna said as though his appearance was a pleasant surprise. “Harry, Percy, Ron, please come in.”

The three boys entered the house, looking around curiously. They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls — the stove, the sink, and the cupboards — and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Harry thought he recognized Luna’s style: The effect, in such an enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead. Harry wondered if Luna's father were making that noise, and what it was he was doing if so. But then a man in neon green robes walked in, and he was unmistakably Luna's father. His hair was long and white and looked like candyfloss, and one eye was pointed at his own nose, apparently stuck in that position. He beamed at Harry when he entered.

“This must be Harry Potter,” Xenophilius Lovegood said with excitement, shaking Harry's hand with great fervor. “My Luna has told me all about you, Mr. Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Likewise, sir,” Harry said politely.

“And who are these other two strapping lads? Hmm... red hair and freckles, are you Weasleys?”

Ron and Percy nodded. Percy held his hand out pompously for Mr. Lovegood to shake.

“Hello, Mr. Lovegood. Percy Weasley, seventh-year Griffindor Prefect. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too, young Mr. Weasley. I've met your father, of course. Charming man, a connoisseur of everything Muggle.”

“Yes, that is our father indeed,” Percy answered.

“And you are... no, let me guess. You look to be Harry's age, so you must be Ronald Weasley. Correct?”

“Yes. Everyone calls me Ron, though.”

“Of course, Ron, of course. Anyway, pleasant as it is to meet you, I must go upstairs and stop the printing press before it goes overboard again. I daresay you'll want to spend time in a quiet house, as opposed to one with all this racket. Excuse me.”

Mr. Lovegood went up the spiral staircase and disappeared upstairs. A few seconds later, the clattering noise stopped, and the room was blessedly silent.

“Printing press?” Harry asked.

“Oh yes. My daddy is editor of The Quibbler. He prints it himself.”

“Ah yes, The Quibbler. How much for the new issue?”

“For you, Harry, you can have one free,” she said, pulling one off of a pile on a chair and handing it to him. “Just make sure to be seen reading it once we get to school. Harry Potter liking our magazine is good for sales.”

“Will do. I'll save reading it for later, then, so I don't have to pretend to be reading it.” He rolled it up and put it in his robe pockets.

She beamed at him. “Excellent. Now, I know it's nowhere near tea-time yet, but would anyone care for some tea?”

The three boys all agreed, and so she tapped a tea kettle with her wand, making it boil at once. Soon, they were all sitting down at the kitchen table and drinking tea. Harry was seated right next to Luna, and Ron giggled every once in a while as he caught the two of them holding hands.

“Luna my love,” her father said, carrying several large boxes in his hands, “could you get the door? I need to get these to the owl-post office.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, getting up at once and holding the door for him. Then she got the gate for him, leaving the front door open. Harry and the others watched as he turned on the spot and disapparated.

When she came back in, closing the door, and sat down again, she spoke.

“Daddy has been selling more copies lately. Not much more, but more. I think having seen you reading them has helped sales.”

“Speaking of which, I need to get a subscription. And I insist on paying for it.”

“Well, if you insist,” she said, and told him the price. He handed over the money.

“Daddy will be pleased,” she said, pulling a list out of a drawer and adding Harry's name to it.

As the rest of the afternoon unfolded, Ron and Percy were largely fifth wheels, since Harry and Luna were so engrossed in their own discussion. Though Percy did get to speak once in a while, as some of the things they talked about overlapped his own interests. But Ron was quickly very bored, and got up to look around the house, admiring Luna's art.

“Oh,” Luna said, spotting Ron examining her paintings. “That reminds me, Harry, I want to show you my bedroom.”

There was an awkward silence as Ron and Percy both looked at Luna. Percy was disapproving, but Ron was stifling giggles.

Perhaps picking up on their thoughts, Luna said, “You two can come as well. I have more art in there.”

Mollified, Percy stood up and smiled. Ron was still trying not to giggle, but it looked easier now.

“Lead the way, Luna,” Harry said.

She led them up the spiral staircase into a room much like a cross between a living room and a workspace. There were loads of piles of papers everywhere, as well as the wooden printing press that had been clattering earlier, and many models of strange creatures. But this wasn't her room. They continued up the stairs to the next level.

Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with three beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same: Harry thought they breathed. They weren't alone, either; four more portraits were in varying states of completion. Of the four, only one was recognizable as anyone yet, and just barely looked like Ginny. Another was barely begun, and the other two were just empty rectangles. If he'd had to hazard a guess, the others would be Antigone, Angela, and Danzia. But that was just a guess.

What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realized that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: _friends_ … _friends_ … _friends_ …

Harry felt a great rush of affection for Luna. He looked around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very like her. They were hugging. Luna looked rather better-groomed in this picture than Harry had ever seen her in life.

“My mother,” Luna explained. “She died when an experiment of hers backfired.”

Harry felt sad for Luna, and set the picture back down, hugging her fiercely.

Luna could have cried then, but she didn't. She just hugged Harry back, stroking his hair as though she were comforting him, not the other way around.

When they pulled apart at last, Luna spoke.

“Of course, this doesn't look the same as it did before Christmas. Harry's and Ron's portraits I did after meeting you before your first year in Hogwarts. I started Hermione's and Ginny's during the Christmas holidays, but only finished Hermione's a couple nights ago. Ginny's was barely recognizable at the time.”

“Who's gonna be in the others?” Harry asked.

“Angela, Antigone, and Danzia, of course,” she replied.

“Of course.”

“Shall we go back to get more tea?”

“Sure, I could have some more.”

“Luna,” Ron said, “these are amazing!” He indicated the paintings.

“Thank you, Ron.”

 

~

 

Harry wanted to visit Luna everyday, but between Percy having homework over break and Harry's own homework, he and Luna only saw one another once every two or three days. Sometimes she'd come over to the Burrow, other times he'd visit her at her house. The latter was made easier when Mr. Lovegood started coming over to fetch Harry, and then escorting him back after.

The whole summer looked to be going that way, until one day Mr. Weasley came back with the news that his family had won a ton of galleons from some Daily Prophet giveaway, and that they were going to go on a trip to Egypt. Harry was very excited for them, but at the same time, he was concerned. He didn't know if he would be allowed to go or not, and he didn't want to go back to the Dursley's any time soon.

He was worrying about this at dinnertime when Percy paused his babble and looked in concern at Harry.

“Harry? You haven't been listening, which is unusual for you. Are you alright?”

“What? Oh... yeah, I've been thinking.”

“About what?”

Harry paused. The words were right there in his brain, aching to get out. He need only say them. But he suddenly found speaking to be impossible. At first he was panicky; what was this? Had the pathway from his brain to his mouth collapsed? But then he remembered something he'd read once about Asperger's and realized that he was simply having a non-verbal incident. Some people with Asperger's or other conditions could find themselves unable to speak when under stress. Knowing this, and knowing that it would pass, he felt better. But he still couldn't speak.

Unable to speak, he scraped his fork back and forth across his plate. It made a noise that made everyone else grit their teeth, but something about the sound comforted him, relaxed him. And before Mrs. Weasley could tell him to stop it, he stopped it on his own and found his voice.

“I'm just wondering where I'm going to go while you're all in Egypt.”

“Oh Harry, sweetie,” Mrs. Weasley said comfortingly, “you're coming with us, of course.”

Harry perked up. “I am?”

“Well yes. We already talked with Dumbledore about it. He didn't see any reason not to. Death Eaters wouldn't think to look for you there, and even if you got lost, you could just call for Netty and she could help you.”

“You can call house elves from that far away?”

“According to Dumbledore, yes. He would know better than we would.”

“Wow! Thanks, Mrs. Weasley!”

“You're welcome, dear.”

 

~

 

For the next few days, while they got ready to go, Harry could speak of nothing else. When he wasn't packing, he was either reading about Egypt from Muggle library books or talking people's ears off about what he'd read. This exasperated most of them, even Ron, but Percy would just smile and listen, or add what he knew about wizarding Egypt to the conversation.

On the day they were to leave, all packed and dressed for Egypt, they walked into the International Wizarding Travel Agency office. Before they could get their portkey out, though, a man from the Daily Prophet insisted on taking a photo of them in front of a very large wizarding photo of Egypt, for the paper. Harry had to take some potions and do some meditating while standing before he was ready to be in the photo, but he managed to do it without being sick. Though now he was in a state to be paying attention, he noticed that the purple smoke the camera made when it went off smelled bad; very bad. Like rotten eggs mixed with week-old dirty diapers.

When that was done, they all went to a large room full of people leaving and returning by magic. They would be given all sorts of strange rubbish before leaving, and would leave behind weird rubbish upon their return.

“Portkeys,” Mr. Weasley said, spotting Harry's confused look. “They have to look like rubbish so Muggles won't go picking them up.”

“Oh,” Harry said. Then, after thinking about it for a moment, said, “Just one flaw in that plan; some Muggles pick up rubbish to make places look nicer, and because some kinds of rubbish are dangerous to animals.”

“Yes, well, it's not foolproof. Occasionally Muggles like that do have to have their memories modified. But most Muggles ignore rubbish, so it's the best option.”

Harry nodded.

When it was their turn to go, a bored man in a purple robe handed Mr. Weasley an old, beat-up, and bent golf club. The Weasleys all took hold of part of it; catching on quickly, so did Harry. He looked up at the man, who noticed his scar with the usual shock of recognition. But before the man could say anything, there was a jerk behind Harry's navel, and the world was swirling around him; he was being jostled against the bodies of the other Weasleys, too.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, they landed, falling down, and Harry hastily turned himself over so he could vomit without drowning himself.

Another equally bored-looking woman, a witch wearing a hijab, lazily cleaned up the sick with her wand, and took the golf club and tossed it into a box.

“Welcome to Egypt,” the woman said in what Harry guessed was an Egyptian accent. “Please enjoy your stay in our lovely country. In the next room, you will find the information kiosk and help desk. Have a lovely time.”

“That we shall, thank you.”

The next room was more than a kiosk, though; it was a large room filled with all sorts of brochures, maps, postcards, and souvenirs. Harry had never been in a gift shop before, but from what he'd seen on the telly, it was obvious that this was one.

Having already gotten money from Gringott's before leaving, they shopped around. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already had maps and brochures from previous trips, so they didn't need to buy any maps, but they looked around anyway.

There were books, too, he soon found; books about wizarding Egypt. He didn't even hesitate before buying one. Along with text, it had loads of wizarding photos of things like the pyramids, tombs from the Valley of the Kings, and reproductions of ancient wizarding Egyptian art, stuff the Muggles had never seen before. There was even a section in the book about how the “explorers” from Europe – Muggle and magical alike – had damaged or destroyed a lot of things back in the day, including everything from blasting the noses off statues to hide the fact that the ancient Egyptians were “negroid,” to how people used to ingest ground-up mummies for various odd reasons. It was all so fascinating that he decided he was going to add some of this information to his History of Magic essay.

“Hey Ron,” Harry said excitedly. “The ancient Egyptians were black, like me! Oldest human civilization on Earth that we know stuff about, and they were black!”

“Cool,” Ron said, lost in his own thoughts about what to buy.

Harry found another book, about modern-day Egypt and its people; the wizarding kind, anyway. Harry bought it, too, and made a mental note to himself to look into buying similar books from Muggle shops.

When they had bought everything they were going to in the gift shop, the Weasleys and Harry went on to a nearby wizarding inn. Its sign was in Arabic, but Harry had bought a pair of Translator Glasses in the gift shop; it looked like a set of opera glasses, but the eyepieces were much bigger. He held it up by the thicker stick it needed because of the extra weight, and looked at the sign through it.

'Pharaoh's Bones Inn' came the translation. Harry moved his eyes away from the Translator Glasses and noticed an image carved in stone over the name, of what looked like a pirate's skull and crossbones, but was wearing one of those colorful Pharaoh hats instead, and a Pharaoh beard. Also, the crossbones were the ancient Egyptian hook and flail that their kings always held in their art, and the skull's eye sockets had glittering stones in them that looked like the shiny, multi-colored surface you see on scarab beetles.

Harry could see the sign so well because it was up in the sunlight, whereas they were down in the shade. Harry was thankful for this, as the air was already hot enough that he was starting to wonder if brains could melt.

They went into the inn, which was much brighter and nicer looking than the Leaky Cauldron. It was also a lot larger on the inside than it had seemed to be on the outside. So much so that he was momentarily shocked, before he remembered that magic could do all sorts of cool things.

There were cooling charms on the inside of the building, of course, which meant Harry's thoughts were no longer slowed down by the sluggish feeling of one's brain melting in the heat. The inn also supplied them with magical white robes to wear outdoors, since these robes had built-in cooling charms. Apparently these robes were part of the travel package, as the Weasleys seemed to not recognize them.

After packing everything away, they had dinner, which was a buffet of familiar and foreign foods. Harry, thinking back to the Dursleys and how they refused to eat anything foreign, decided to take a mix of things both foreign and familiar so he could try some things and still have something to eat if he didn't like the things he tried. But he found that most of the things he tried were good; there were only a few things he tried that he didn't like.

After dinner, Harry and Ron talked for a while. Then Ron went to bed. Harry sat up reading for an hour before going to bed himself.

“This summer is going to be awesome,” he said to himself as he began to drift off.

 

~

 

The summer was indeed awesome for Harry. He still had issues being around crowds of people, still had headaches, and still carried helpful potions around on his person everywhere he went, but aside from that, he was having a blast. There were pyramids and ancient wizarding tombs full of mutant skeletons from the curses the wizards had left behind for unsuspecting tomb robbers. Fred and George tried locking Percy in a tomb, but Mrs. Weasley caught them, and Harry agreed that it was a horrible thing to do to someone, even a brother.

There were also other things to see; the Egyptian version of Diagon Alley; its name, translated into English, meant 'Wizarding Way.' ('Way' in the sense of a road.) There were all sorts of shops, more even than Diagon Alley, that sold a plethora of unfamiliar objects. The books came in different languages, and Harry had some fun reading the foreign-language books with the Translator Glasses. This set appeared to be best suited for Arabic-to-English translation; translating any other language than Arabic would usually end in hilarity as the words would be either complete or partial nonsense. Harry could've sworn he even saw, in one of the books, a phrase that got garble-translated into the words 'my hovercraft is full of eels.'

On July 31st, Harry awoke to the sound of owls. He hastily opened his window and let them in, and they carried in a large package. Neither of them seemed happy about the sand in their feathers, so he gave them some owl treats. One was a school owl, and the other was Hedwig. He took the Hogwarts letter from the school owl, and, fed and watered, it flew back out into the hot Egyptian morning.

The big package was a birthday present, the first he'd gotten on time since Netty had needed to steal his post back from Dobby the year before. There was also a birthday card. The gift and card were from Hermione. There was also a letter from her in there, too.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_Happy 13 th birthday! You're officially a teenager now!_

 

_I’m on holiday in France at the moment and I didn’t know how I was going to send this to you — what if they’d opened it at customs? — but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I’ve been getting it delivered; it’s so good to keep up with what’s going on in the wizarding world)._

_I'm so excited for you and Ron, going to Egypt. I bet you're learning loads. I’m really jealous — the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating._

_There’s some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I’ve rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I’ve found out. I hope it’s not too long — it’s two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for._

_Ron says you two will be in London in the last week of the holidays. Is that right? I hope it is. Either way, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September the 1 st._

 

_Love from_

 

_Hermione_

 

_PS. Ron says Percy’s Head Boy. I’ll bet Percy’s really pleased._ _Ron doesn’t seem too happy about it._

 

Harry wondered what was in the package. Knowing Hermione, it was probably a book. He opened it up carefully and looked inside. It was not a book at all, but was in fact a Muggle chemistry set. The set came with a book, though. Harry smiled; it was a bit like getting Potions stuff for his birthday, but different enough that he was fascinated. (Though his life experiences needing potions for things meant he wasn't shabby at Potions.) He'd heard all about chemistry sets before, of course, but there was no way Dudley would ever get one; it was too brainy for him, and even if he'd had an interest in it, Harry didn't like the thought of Dudley getting access to potentially dangerous chemicals.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said aloud.

There was another parcel that had been left, which he'd only just now noticed. He recognized Hagrid's untidy scrawl. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly — as though it had jaws.

“Shit,” he said, leaping back. He knew Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous on purpose, but the large man didn't have a normal idea of what constituted 'dangerous.'

Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin.

Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.

And out fell — a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title _The Monster Book of Monsters,_ before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.

“Shit,” Harry said again.

Knowing he couldn't use his wand, in case whatever magic kept track of underage magic could work in Egypt, he snuck around behind it as it scuttled about, trying to catch it. He finally managed to coax it out into the open, where he jumped atop it, flattening it. As Hedwig watched with interest, he wrestled one of his spare belts around it. The monster book shuddered angrily, but could no longer snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid’s card.

 

 _Dear_ _Harry,_

_Happy birthday!_

 

 _Think you might find this_ _useful for next_ _year._

_Won’t say no more here. Tell you when I see you._

 

_How's Egypt? Seen any interesting creatures there yet?_

 

_All the best,_

 

_Hagrid_

 

 

Harry snorted with a mix of amusement and sarcasm. He very much hoped he wouldn't see any 'interesting creatures' as Hagrid called them, or 'monsters' as other people called them, on this trip. But Hagrid's question conjured up images of giant sandworms out in the desert swallowing unwary tourists whole, or some kind of man-eating crocodile/hippopotamus hybrid in the Nile's waters, or maybe some kind of magical beetle that lived in great big hives and swarmed over people, gnawing the meat off their bones while they screamed. Those were the sorts of things Hagrid thought were cute and cuddly and misunderstood.

He put Hagrid's card next to Hermione's, and moved on to the Hogwart's letter. Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within, and read:

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

 

_Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King’s Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o’clock._

 

_Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign._

 

_A list of books for next year is enclosed._

 

_Yours sincerely,_

 

_Professor M. McGonagall_

 

_Deputy Headmistress_

 

 

Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form? Especially since he was staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer? He didn't want to go back, even to ask them to sign something, and he doubted they'd want to sign it anyway, unless he told them it would be dangerous, which would be a lie, as far as he knew.

He considered asking the Weasley twins to forge Uncle Vernon's signature, or do it himself since he didn't think anyone at Hogwart's had ever seen the man's signature, but then how would he explain how he got the signature when he hadn't had a chance to get the real thing?

His thoughts were interrupted when Ron came in.

“Oh good, you're up. Happy birthday!” Ron said, handing him a gift and a birthday card.

The card just said 'Happy birthday, Harry' and Ron's signature. So he set it next to the others and opened the small gift. Out popped what looked like a top, a top that was always magically balanced on its point.

“It's a pocket sneakoscope,” Ron explained. “It's supposed to light up and spin and make noise when anyone untrustworthy is around. Though I don't know how good it is, it kept making noise the night I bought it, at dinner.”

“So _that's_ what that sound was. Also explains why you ran off and came back a bit later.”

“Yeah. I reckon it was going off because of the twins. They were putting beetles in Percy's soup.”

Harry frowned at this. “That's not very nice.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So is it true that Percy is Head Boy?”

“Oh yeah, he got his letter ahead of the rest of us for some reason; his came in yesterday. Gave me time to mention it to Hermione. She responded already?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That's pretty fast for Errol. All the way from Egypt to Britain in less than a day?”

“Hermione isn't in Britain. She's on holiday in the south of France.”

“Oh. Well that explains it, then. He just had to fly over the Mediterranean, then over to France. I wonder when he'll be back.”

“I'd be more inclined to wonder  _if_ he'll come back. He can barely manage flights within Britain, but international flights? I hope he hasn't fallen into the sea.”

“Oh. Yeah, hadn't thought of that.”

A couple more owls arrived, then. He didn't recognize these, but when he took their loads from them, he recognized Danzia's handwriting, and Antigone's as well. He read the letters first, before opening the gifts.

“Danzia and her family are on holiday in the states. Oregon, to be specific. They have relatives there, apparently.”

“Oregon? Where's that?”

“West coast, between California and Washington state.”

“Oh. That doesn't really help me, but whatever. What does Antigone say?”

“She and her folks are in Rome.”

“Cool. Well, you gonna open your gifts?”

Harry nodded, and picked up Danzia's gift first, opening it. It was a slice of petrified wood about the size of his fist, and came with a booklet about the magical properties of petrified wood.

“Cool!”

He handed it to Ron so his friend could examine it, too, and moved on to Antigone's present. It was in a large, very fancy green box with silver ribbons. When he opened it, he found another box. Only, this was a silver lock-box encrusted with what looked like emeralds, and had very lifelike emerald serpents on it, with rubies for eyes.

“Bloody Hell! That must cost a fortune!” Ron exclaimed.

“Wow, Antigone...”

“She must fancy you, Harry.”

“Oh don't be silly, Ron; she's dating Angela. Hey, there's a note taped to the bottom.”

 

_Harry,_

 

_This is something my father's family bought a century or two ago, as a curiosity. It's said to have belonged to Slytherin, but we both doubt it; it looks like his style but doesn't have his crest or markings anywhere on it. Also, the gems are all fake, and the silver is low quality. Probably a replica. Though whoever used to own it was likely a Parselmouth like Slytherin, as nobody's ever been able to open it, and there's no keyhole. When I told my dad I was trying to find a gift for you, well... given that I accidentally let slip about your gift once to him, and he remembered that fact, daddy suggested this. I thought it was too much, even if it is mostly fake, and maybe it_ is _too much, but he insisted. Though he told me if there's anything inside when you open it, he wants the contents back so he can examine them. He's a historian, you see._

 

_Anyway, happy birthday!_

 

_Your friend,_

_Antigone Dreyfuss_

 

“Wow,” Harry repeated. Then, wanting to know if anything was in it, he switched to Parseltongue. _'Open,'_ he commanded.

There was a click, and the box opened up. Sadly, though, there didn't appear to be anything in it.

“Drat. I was hoping something cool would be in it. Oh well.”

“Check it for secret compartments.”

“A secret compartment in a box only a Parselmouth can open?”

Ron shrugged. “You never know.”

Harry felt around inside the box, and felt only the green felt it was lined with.

“If there's a secret compartment, it's well hidden. I'll keep trying, later.”

“Mr. Dreyfuss is going to be disappointed.”

“He's not the only one.”

Harry closed the box and put it in his trunk, along with Danzia's gift.

Yet another owl swooped through the window then. He took its burden from it, and saw it was from Luna. It had a great long letter from her, even though they'd been using the two-way mirror, as well as a card. He added the three new cards to his collection, and looked at the gift. It was smallish. He wondered what it could be.

“Well, open it.”

Before he could open it, two other owls flew in.

“A parliament of owls,” Harry said as he set Luna's gift aside to check these owls.

He was shocked to recognize one of them; it was Draco's eagle owl. There was no gift, just a letter and a card.

“You got something from Malfoy?” Ron said in bewilderment.

“Looks like it.”

“Careful, Harry!”

“Oh come now. He may not be a friend exactly, but he hangs out with us at MAC meetings, so he's not an enemy either.”

Contrary to Ron's fears, neither the card nor the letter were booby trapped. The card had a design of serpents on it, naturally. The inside of the card said simply, “Happy Birthday, Harry Potter, from your friend Draco Malfoy.”

He looked at the letter, and read it.

 

_Dear Harry Potter,_

 

_Happy birthday to you, Mr. Potter. I apologize for the formal style of this letter and the card, but as I'm still unclear about the precise nature of our relationship, I decided that this level of formality was called for. I also apologize for not getting you a gift, but again, with the complicated nature of our relationship, I wasn't sure if I should. Nor would I know what to get you if I could. But I wanted to send you my regards on your birthday anyway, that much seemed only polite. Especially since you have opened my eyes and made me question the hatred my parents have for a people they don't even understand, the hatred I shared with them until you opened my eyes._

_It has not been an easy thing, having my eyes opened. Many of my friends are not speaking to me anymore, and my parents do not understand. Father gets angry, but thankfully he restrains himself to yelling, being unable or unwilling to harm his only child and heir. But as much as I love my parents, it will be something of a relief to return to Hogwarts. At least I have been becoming friends with a few new people in Slytherin. You know them, of course: Antigone Dreyfuss, Angela Whitechapel, and Danzia McCullough._

_But I did not write you to burden you with my problems. I wrote you to express my thanks for opening my eyes, for taking a chance on me, and also to wish you well on your birthday. Which I have now done. I hope the rest of your summer is fun and amazing._

 

_Best wishes,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

_PS = I have instructed my owl to wait for your reply, if you wish to reply, but if you would prefer not to, you may send him away instead. I will not be offended._

 

Harry handed Ron the letter to read himself, and went on to the last owl. It was another with a card, a gift, and a letter, this time from Angela. He set her card and Draco's with the others, and opened the gift. It turned out to be a candy sampler from Honeyduke's. There were ice mice, sugar quills, fizzing whizbees, and several varieties of chocolates. It reminded him of Ron's usual gifts of chocolates or other candy. He guessed candy was generally a good thing to send when you didn't know what to get the other person, or didn't have much money to spend. Unless it was fancy chocolates, for some reason.

Suddenly, he remembered Luna's gift, and picked it up from its spot on the bed. He opened it, and there was a small box in there, like a jewelry box. Ron watched him as he opened the box and took out some sort of weird-looking amulet on a chain. He grabbed Luna's letter and read it for clues.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_Best wishes on your birthday, Harry!_

 

_Since you're probably wondering about the gift, I'll tell you. Unless you're reading this letter first, in which case you should open the gift before reading further. I'll wait for you._

 

_Ready now? Good. So the amulet makes different sounds when you press the different jewels. When you press the green gem, it makes a musical tone that's supposed to chase away Scrabjabbles, which are creatures that hide out of sight and give people headaches. Play that tone and they will go away._

 

_The blue gem, when you press it, emits a tone that humans can't hear. Animals can hear it, and it drives them wild, but humans, not even Animagi, can hear it. I don't know why they included that feature in the amulet, but maybe you'll find a use for it._

 

_The purple gem emits a harsh, low tone like gravel being crushed sideways. I was told it is the mating call of the Lesser Bagrack; bagracks look like stones, and only move at night, so slowly you almost can't see it. If you can capture one, they will tell you three prophecies about your life in exchange for their freedom. If you don't let them go after they've given the prophecies, though, then when you die your soul will remain earthbound, which is worse even than leaving a ghost behind, so be careful. Because it's a Lesser Bagrack, they will range in size from pebbles to no larger than fist-sized._

 

_As to the red gem, that one will scream very loudly if you press it. But don't worry about accidentally pressing it, because you have to press it very hard to get it to do it. I tried pressing it for hours, and only managed it once._

 

_Well, I'll leave the rest for our talk later. Hope you enjoy your gift. :-)_

 

_Love from_

 

_Luna_

 

Harry smiled. He put the weird amulet around his neck, and tried out the green gem. Sure enough, it played airy, tinkling music that did indeed sound very soothing. How it would sound when he had a headache, though, he didn't know.

He tried the blue gem. Immediately, all the owls went nuts, flapping and shrieking, so he stopped, and they began to calm down, giving him angry glares.

The purple gem did indeed sound like a bunch of gravel being crushed sideways by a larger piece of stone. It was soothing, in a way, relaxing, like the sound of silverware on plates was for him. He played it a few more times before Ron's glares made him decide to stop.

He decided to take Luna's word for what the red stone did. He slipped the amulet under his shirt, put his gifts and cards away, and decided to go to breakfast. He would write his friends thank you letters later.

Halfway through breakfast, Harry got out the amulet and tried the blue gem again. The shrieking of the owls in his room immediately carried all the way down to the table, though, so he stopped at once. Shaken, he reached over a sleeping Scabbers for some more eggs.

 

Later on, when they were going out again and he was thus far away from any animals, at least as far as he could tell, he played with the blue gem some more. No animals were around to react to it. But he noticed something else; it hadn't been noticeable before, due to the owls shrieking, but Harry could hear the sound. It was faint, but he could hear it. And it was mildly annoying to him, the sound.

“Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Ron asked.

“This,” Harry said, pressing the button.

“No. Should I?”

“Humans aren't supposed to be able to hear it, Luna said. So why can I hear it? Granted, it's quiet to me, and only mildly annoying, but I _can_ hear it.”

“No idea. Could it be cuz you've got Assburger's?”

“Asperger's,” Harry automatically corrected. “Maybe. Yeah, that must be it. We can have enhanced senses, sometimes more than one.”

 

~

 

On the 22nd of August, Harry surprised Percy by giving the older boy a birthday present.

“Harry, this is... you didn't need to get me anything.”

“I know I didn't need to. I wanted to. The way your siblings act around you, I thought you could use a gift.”

Percy stared at the unopened present.

“Are you going to open it?”

“Oh, yes.”

Percy opened the gift with a care that suggested he wasn't used to getting gifts, and pulled it out of the wrapping. His face scrunched up in confusion for a moment before he turned to Harry for an explanation.

“It's a set of two-way mirrors. Send one to Penelope, and you'll be able to talk face-to-face with her from great distances.”

“Wow. Harry... this is the most thoughtful gift I've ever gotten.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My parents usually get us jumpers and food for gifts. On the rare occasion I get something better, like Hermes, it's things I picked out. And my siblings just get me chocolates or candy. This is amazing. I'll send one to Penelope straight away, thank you!”

Percy shook Harry's hand with his free hand, smiling the whole time, then ran off to send his girlfriend her half of the set. Harry grinned at the boy's back, happy for him.

 

~

 

Harry was exhausted in a happy way when they returned on August 25th. This happiness was shared by all the Weasleys, but it didn't last long in the adults, for something was making them nervous and scared. Harry had no idea what was making them feel that way, though, and they wouldn't answer when he asked about it.

This frustrated him. But he paid attention, and noticed that their feelings seemed to be centered around newspapers, so he tried to get a hold of the Daily Prophet, but the adults always beat him to it. After a couple days, he got frustrated enough to send Hedwig off to the Daily Prophet to buy a subscription for himself.

The next morning, he got his first paper, and he saw what had them worried. A prisoner had escaped from some place called Azkaban, the wizarding prison that Hagrid had been sent to in the year previous, before being cleared and returned. A prisoner, moreover, who had been a prisoner for 12 years, who had apparently killed 13 people with a single curse.

But something bothered him about the man's face, there was something familiar in it. He couldn't figure out why, though.

For the next few days, he pondered on the problem every chance he got, talking to the other Weasley children – including Percy – when he could, even asking Luna about the man. But nobody knew anything.

It was after dinner that he got the idea. They were, after all, very good at doing things, and people tended to not take notice of them...

“Netty!”

With a small CRACK, Netty the house elf appeared before him.

“Harry Potter is calling Netty for something? What is it Netty can be getting for Harry Potter?”

“Hello, Netty. Thanks for coming. I was wondering if you could please find me information about this man, Sirius Black?”

Netty shuddered.

“You know something?”

“Well, yes, Harry Potter. Netty is hearing things, of course. Sirius Black is a bad man, they says. He is killing--”

“--thirteen people with a single curse, yes I know about that. I want to know about what he was doing before that. I want to know, if you can find out, _why_ he killed all those people, as well. There's something familiar about the man, and I can't figure out why. I want to know why, so any information you can find about him would help me.”

“Netty can ask around among the other house elves, sir. They sometimes hears things that isn't secrets. We keeps our masters secrets and our silence, but some things we is able to speak about because they isn't secrets. I is seeing what I can find out for you, sir,” she said, bowing.

“Thank you, Netty.”

The disapparated with a CRACK, and Harry went back to thinking on the problem.

There was, of course, more to it than the familiarity of the man's face. There was also the fact that the adults seemed very worried for Harry in particular, and also unwilling to say anything about it. And given Harry's track record in the wizarding world so far, he suspected the man was after him in particular for some reason. Maybe he was in league with Voldemort during the last war? Harry didn't know why he would escape after 12 years, but then, maybe it took that long to work out how to do it. So the man might be wanting to help his old master? Or, if he thought his old master dead, maybe he wanted revenge on Harry?  No matter what the reasons, though, he needed to know all he could, in case the man was a threat.

Since he was getting nowhere without more information, he decided to write thank-you letters to his friends. Deciding that gave him the idea, then, to ask them about Sirius Black. And, what they heck, why not ask Draco as well? Ron had said Mr. Malfoy had been a Death Eater, and his involvement with Tom Riddle's diary seemed to confirm that, so maybe he'd told Draco something about Sirius Black at some point.

Between asking about Black and telling about his time in Egypt, it took him all night to write his letters to his friends. In the end, there were so many of them that he ended up borrowing Errol and Hermes as well as using Hedwig, and even then it took a couple days to get all the letters sent off. He sent Hedwig to deliver his letter to Draco. That letter he'd written informally, to indicate that he was willing to count Draco as a budding friend. His hand was very cramped after he was done with the letters, so much so that he began thinking about buying a dictation quill. He wouldn't be able to use it for homework, of course, but it would be great for letters. He put one on his list for Diagon Alley  before going to bed .

 

 

~

 

The day before their trip to Diagon Alley, Harry got back letters from his friends. Most of them didn't know anything more about Sirius Black than he did. But his idea to write Draco had paid off.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_Thank you for your letter. It was a relief, to be honest. I've been avoiding my parents lately, except at meals, to avoid fights. So being able to have someone to communicate with, even by letter, is a pleasant relief._

_Your trip to Egypt sounds amazing! I've been abroad myself, of course, but I don't think father has ever taken me to Egypt before. If he did, I don't remember it. We've been to France, Belgium, Italy, and even Greece, though._

_As to Sirius Black, yes, I have heard something. Father made some snide remarks about the man when he read the news. I asked him about it, and despite our fights this summer, we had a remarkably civil conversation about Black. I think he was glad to have something to talk with me about that wouldn't end in shouting._

_I don't even know if I should tell you this, because it might upset you, but you asked, and you should know. It shouldn't be kept from you. According to father, Sirius Black was your dad's best friend in school and later. He was even your father's best man at the wedding. The Ministry thinks the man was secretly a Death Eater and betrayed your parents to Voldemort. He says it's possible, but he doubts it; father was pretty high up the chain of command, and if Black was a Death Eater, the Dark Lord never told father about it, which would be odd because father was one of the Dark Lord's three most trusted lieutenants._

_Anyway, apparently your parents were made aware of the Dark Lord's plans to kill them and you, so they went into hiding using something called the Fidelius Charm. This involves the hiding of a secret in a single human soul. Sirius Black was said to have been the Secret Keeper, i.e. the one in whose soul the secret was kept, and the only one who could tell anyone the secret. Since the Dark Lord was able to get in to kill your parents, it must be true that Black betrayed them. Father says he doesn't think there's any other way it could have happened._

_As to the event he was imprisoned for, a man named Peter Pettigrew apparently went to confront Black about the betrayal, and Black blew the man to smithereens, which blew up the street and killed 12 Muggles as well. The biggest bit of Pettigrew the Ministry found was a single finger. With so many witnesses, they didn't even give the man a trial. Which father sneered about, since all the witnesses were Muggles, and therefore not reliable in his opinion. But with their memories modified, they can't be questioned again, so I see his point there._

_Father also says that Minister Fudge and the rest of the Ministry thinks Black escaped to kill you and rejoin the Dark Lord. But... well, Black came from a family that was pretty vehement about blood purity, but he frequently and loudly rejected all that tosh, and got disowned as a result. I suppose it's possible he went back on his beliefs to rejoin the family, but he doesn't seem the type._

_Well, that's all of what father told me. I hope you aren't too upset at me for telling me this._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

Harry set the letter down and sighed. Then he clenched his fists and pressed them against his eyes, silently crying. He'd been their friend? A friend of theirs had betrayed them? He tried to imagine Hermione or Ron betraying him like that, and couldn't. Had it been the same for his parents?

Standing up suddenly, Harry got out the photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year, and looked. After flipping through a dozen pages, he found it, the photos of the wedding. He presumed the laughing, handsome man with long black hair was Black, but that was a guess; the man in the photo looked nothing like the newspaper's photo, aside from the color of the hair and something about the face.

But there was doubt about his guilt. Mr. Malfoy sounded like he was pretty sure he'd know if Black had been a Death Eater, and there was all that stuff about being disowned by his pureblood-obsessed family. As upset as he was, he didn't know enough about this Fidelius Charm to know how it worked. Though Dumbledore was on the wizengamot... surely he'd have fought for a trial?  The fact they didn't have a trial didn't mean he didn't fight for one. Dumbledore was a powerful man, but the Ministry had ignored his advice before.  But it was still fishy.

Harry was just about to write another letter to Draco, to ask if he knew if there was any way to know for sure if someone was a Death Eater or not, but then he realized that tomorrow was the last day of August, and then the day after that was the Hogwart's train ride. He could ask Draco on the train. So instead, he just lay in bed, thinking about things until he finally stumbled into the arms of sleep.

 

~

 

Because they were going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron that night, they all had to make sure they brought their trunks and anything they wanted to take to Hogwart's with them. So it felt a lot like going to the train, just more sedate.

When they got everything packed into the car, they all got in and drove to London, parking in a special hidden car park for wizards so they could get their ridiculous amount of things out of the magically-expanded boot of the car without being spotted by Muggles. When all their stuff was settled into their rooms for the night, everyone went out the back into Diagon Alley to go to Gringott's, then do their shopping.

Harry had a hard time getting away from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and only managed it by agreeing to let Percy accompany them. But Percy was itching to leave and find Penelope, so he convinced the older boy to leave him be. Percy only agreed, though, when Ron and Hermione showed up.

With his two friends in tow, they went all over Diagon Alley. Harry spent a lot of time in the bookstores, looking for information that might help him with his questions about Black, among other subjects. He also went to Ollivander's to buy a spare wand to hide from view, surprise people trying to hurt him. Ron got a new wand as well, since his had exploded in the Chamber of Secrets the year before, and had been dying for a long time anyway.

Ron's rat Scabbers was also not doing well, he'd been getting thinner ever since they got back from Egypt, and for a rat that did nothing but eat and sleep all day, that was worrying. So they went to the Magical Menagerie as well, to get him some rat tonic.

While they were there, Harry looking at the many magical creatures in fascination, an ugly, flat-faced, bandy-legged cat named Crookshanks attacked Scabbers, driving Ron out of the shop. Harry went with his friend, but Hermione stayed behind. This was both good and bad; good because Hermione brought back the rat tonic Ron had forgotten, and bad because she bought Crookshanks  instead of getting an owl as planned , which Ron was not happy about.

 

Dinner at the Leaky Cauldron was great that night. The  Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione sat at three tables and ate a five course meal. It wasn't as good as Mrs. Weasley's cooking, but it was close.

After dinner, they were packing so they'd be ready to go in the morning. The Weasleys were hoping that being in London would mean they could avoid the usual rush of almost being late for the train every time. In the midst of this, Percy had mislaid his Head Boy badge, but thought Ron had taken it, so he was making Ron help look for it. But since Ron had left his pet's rat tonic downstairs, and now couldn't go after it, Harry volunteered to fetch it for him.

On his way, he caught the two adult Weasleys talking about him from the parlor. Talking about how Black was after Harry, wanted to kill him. Even though he knew this already, he stayed, because this was verifying Draco's letter.

“But no one’s really sure that Black’s after Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said at one point.

There was a thud on wood, and Harry was sure Mr. Weasley had banged his fist on the table.

“Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn’t report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black’s been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts … he’s at Hogwarts.’ Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that.”

He continued to listen, and found that Dumbledore didn't like the Azkaban guards at all. But soon after, the conversation ended, so Harry went back to fetching Ron's rat tonic.

The bottle of rat tonic was lying under the table they had sat at earlier. Harry waited until he heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s bedroom door close, then headed back upstairs with the bottle.

Fred and George were crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they listened to Percy dismantling his and Ron’s room in search of his badge.

“We’ve got it,” Fred whispered to Harry. “We’ve been improving it.”

The badge now read _Bighead Boy._

“ That's not funny. He's very proud of his accomplishment, as well he should be. I don't know if you're jealous or what, but you're being bullies to him, and I should know, I was raised by a bunch of bullies.”

“You're comparing us to the Dursleys?”

“Yes. Bullying comes in all kinds. I even saw kids at school who were bullying victims become bullies themselves. Remove the enchantments from the badge and give it to me.”

The twins looked at one another, then at Harry, looking a little abashed. One of them – George, he thought – removed the enchantment from the badge, and handed it over.

“Thank you,” Harry said, going back upstairs.

“Percy,” he said when he got inside the room, “I rescued your badge from the twins.”

“You did? Oh thank you, Harry!”

“AHEM,” Ron said angrily. “I think somebody owes somebody else an apology.”

“I'm sorry I thought it was you, Ron. I should've known it was the twins. They didn't do anything to it, did they, Harry?”

“Yes, but I made them undo it. And they did, I saw it.”

“ Thank you again,” Percy said, taking it back and pinning it to his robes.

Harry gave Ron back the rat tonic.

That night in bed, while listening to muffled shouts from the other room, Harry thought about Black, worrying on the problem like a dog with a bone. He was thinking, especially, about why the confirmation of Black being after him didn't scare him. But he'd faced down Voldemort himself, how much worse could one of his Death Eaters be?

Then, too, there was the question of Black's betrayal. It confused him. He tried imagining one of his friends betraying him, and couldn't manage it. Was his father just really bad at judging character? Or had Voldemort scared Black into betraying Harry's family?

But what was worse than that for Harry, just then, was that even if he could somehow have gotten the Dursleys to sign the Hogsmeade permission slip, the teachers would no doubt find some excuse to prevent him from going. If the Azkaban guards were going to be at the school, he doubted he'd ever be allowed to go. Not until Black was apprehended again.

He sighed, and rolled over to concentrate on getting to sleep.

 

 

 

~FAYANORA~

 

Note: Sorry this took so long. I got stuck trying to figure out if Harry should go with the Weasleys to Egypt or not. If this were my only fic, there'd have been no hesitation in letting him go with them, but he goes with them to Egypt in my other fic, “The Many Faces of Harry Potter,” so I didn't know what to do. But then I realized this Harry's experience of Egypt would be very different from the other's.

 

Note two: Ah, so I don't know if you noticed or not, but shortly after introducing the concept of stress-induced non-verbal episodes, I introduced you to the concept of a stim. I don't recall if I've done this yet before or not, but here we are. Like myself, Harry has auditory stims. A stim is a sensory input that someone finds comforting. This makes sense, since many sensory inputs can irritate and frustrate myself and other aspies, so of course the opposite exists. A fork scraping on a plate is not one of my own stims, but it's one that makes sense, since there are sounds I and others find comforting that drive others crazy. I even heard, once, about an aspie whose stim (one of them) was styrofoam squeaking against styrofoam, which is a sound that I can't personally tolerate.


	2. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the train to Hogwarts, Harry runs into Draco, who is running from some former friends. Then something horrible boards the train, making Harry pass out. And all because Sirius Black is supposed to be trying to kill him. Why can't Harry have just one normal year at Hogwarts?

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

Note 3: I re-read this series recently, and OMG the number of continuity errors is embarrassing. I blame it on a combo of reading too much HP fanfic and having a poor memory.

 

 

**Chapter 2: Trapped**

 

The next morning was exciting as usual on school train days, with all the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione getting ready. Harry figured he and Hermione held up the Weasleys with their hair care routines, since even wearing do-rags overnight (something the Dursleys had never let him do, because they said it made him look like more of a hooligan than usual, which just made his hair harder to manage), their hair took at least an hour to wrangle into some sort of order. Hermione just brushed hers out daily and washed it every 2 or 3 days, but Harry was starting to experiment with different hairstyles, made easier by some simple hair charms he was learning. Today he'd decided to go with dreadlocks, which – with a hair charm that Angelina Johnson had taught him – were pretty easy. Dreadlocks needed to be cleaned daily, but there was a hair-washing charm that would work without them losing their shape. Harry began wishing he'd thought of this the day before. One quick hair-washing charm and he'd have been ready to go already.

The fact that they were in London already helped speed things along, so there was some idleness and talking. Harry frowned as Mrs. Weasley told Ginny and Hermione about making a love potion when she was younger; he didn't like the sound of love potions, they sounded really creepy to him.

“I've got something to tell you,” Harry tried to tell Ron, but Ron was distracted; Percy had accused him of spilling tea on his picture of his girlfriend, and Ron was understandably sore about it. By the time Ron was paying attention again, the chaos of leaving was making it impossible to speak, so Harry decided to wait.

Once Hermione got Crookshanks inside the car in his cat basket and everyone got their trunks in the boot, everyone got inside the car. Even in the magically-expanded car, it was crowded with all of them in there. Especially since Ron and Percy had to sit together.

At the station, they took the barrier in pairs. Apparently remembering the incident of the barrier last year, Mr. Weasley went first with Harry, but there was no problem this year. Soon, the others joined them. Percy went looking for Penelope as soon as he came in. Harry focused on trying to keep a headache away as he helped get the trunks on the train.

When they got their stuff stowed in their compartment, they went back to say goodbye to the adults.

Mrs. Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, and finally, Harry. He was embarrassed, but really quite pleased, when she gave him an extra hug.

“Do take care, won’t you, Harry?” she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, “I’ve made you all sandwiches. … Here you are, Ron … no, they’re not corned beef. … Fred? Where’s Fred? Here you are, dear. …”

“Harry,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “come over here a moment.”

He jerked his head toward a pillar, and Harry followed him behind it, leaving the others crowded around Mrs. Weasley.

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you before you leave —” said Mr. Weasley, in a tense voice.

“It's fine. I already know what you're going to say.”

“You do? How could you?”

“Black is supposed to be after me, right? So yeah, I worked it out for myself,” Harry said, not wanting to admit he had overheard them. It was true, anyway. “You and Mrs. Weasley were so tense once we got back from Egypt, I knew something was up. You kept avoiding the papers, so I took out a subscription. And your worry seemed to be centered around me. So it wasn't difficult to work out. Plus, Draco confirmed it.”

Mr. Weasley's face turned stony. “Draco? You don't mean Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes. He's not like his father, Mr. Weasley, not anymore. He's my friend now, he's been going to MAC meetings, and he's been converted over to our side. His parents fight with him over it, and he's lost most of his previous friends because of it.”

“Oh. He told you, then? Well... it's not how I'd like you to find out.”

“It's fine,” Harry said. “I'm glad he did. He told me everything, you know. How Black betrayed my parents, supposedly.”

“He _did_ betray them, Harry. He was their secret keeper.”

“Well Mr. Malfoy says that as far as he knew, Black wasn't a Death Eater, and Mr. Malfoy was one of Voldemort's top lieutenants, so he would know, wouldn't he?”

“Be that as it may, Harry, innocent men don't break out of prison. The Ministry thinks Black is after you, so you should avoid him if at all possible. Assume he is a threat, Harry.”

“I will be cautious, Mr. Weasley. I always am. And I never said I thought he was innocent, just that there's some doubt. Enough that he should have been given a trial, but apparently he never got one. Which tells me quite a lot about wizarding Britain's justice system, and nothing good.”

“Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, who was now shepherding the rest onto the train. “Arthur, what are you doing? It’s about to go!”

“He’s coming, Molly!” said Mr. Weasley, but he turned back to Harry, talking in a low and hurried voice. “Well unfair or not, avoid the man. He is still an escaped prisoner, been in Azkaban for 12 years, so he's bound to be a bit unhinged even if he is somehow innocent.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, I'll be cautious. I'll stay in the castle and be good. I promise.”

“Good. Now hurry, Harry!”

Harry nodded and hurried back into the train just before it started to move. The Weasley kids, Harry, and Hermione waved goodbye to the two Weasley adults as the train sped off, until they could no longer see the adults.

“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed.

“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train.

This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.

“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispered Hermione at once.

“How d’you know that?”

“It’s on his case,” she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name _Professor R. J. Lupin_ was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin’s pallid profile.

“That’s obvious,” whispered Hermione. “There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was jinxed.

“Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway …” He turned to Harry. “Are Luna and the others gonna join us?” he asked.

“No. Eight people in one compartment would a bit crowded. I'll tell Luna, Antigone, Angela, and Danzia later.

“Okay then. So what were you going to tell us?”

Harry explained about what he'd figured out, what Draco had told him, and the argument he'd overheard between the Weasley adults, since it had confirmed his suspicions, as well as Mr. Weasley's words just now.

When he was done, the looks on his friends faces were mixed.

“Yes?” he prompted, looking at Hermione first.

“Well... I mean, it _is_ very unfair he wasn't given a trial, but I'm sure Dumbledore must have fought for one. Or, if he didn't, he must have thought the man's guilt was obvious. I mean, I don't know what this Fidelius Charm entails, but I'm sure Dumbledore does. And Mr. Weasley is right, if he broke out of prison, it must be for a reason. And you said Black had been saying 'He's at Hogwarts.' If Black didn't mean you, who could he possibly mean?”

“What if he thought Harry was his father?” Ron asked.

“Pardon?”

“If they were friends... well, everyone who knew your parents say you look like your dad. If Black has been in Azkaban for 12 years, he might indeed be crazy.”

“I wonder why he escaped?” Harry asked, thinking aloud.

“Well I think Dad's right, Harry, you should assume he's guilty. They probably should've given him a trial, yeah, but the fact they didn't must mean they knew it wasn't needed. They must have had proof. And he _was_ their secret keeper.”

“Yes, people keep saying that. But I'm still going to keep an open mind. If it turns out he _is_ guilty, then so be it. But I want to be sure first.”

“First?” Hermione asked. “What do you mean by 'first'?”

“I mean, before I condemn him. I'll be cautious, yes, but I'll withhold condemnation for now.”

“Good. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry.”

“I don't. Trouble usually finds me well enough on its own.”

“Yeah, Harry; I don't trust anything Malfoy says, to start with, and anyway, Black broke out of prison. If he didn't use some kind of dark magic, how'd he do it, huh? I don't think any decent wizard could do it.”

“I'll bet Dumbledore could.”

“Yeah, well, that's Dumbledore. He's a special case.”

“Ron's right, you know. Most wizards couldn't break out of there. And why did he break out, anyway? He was content to be there for 12 years, and then all of a sudden, he escapes? After saying 'He's at Hogwarts'? If he's not going after you for some reason, what did he escape for?”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll never find out. But I'm not going to assume he's evil. I'll avoid him, just to be careful, though.”

“There's still the fact he was your parents' secret-keeper. Doesn't that anger you? Or make you upset?”

“I was upset at first, yes. But, well... there's a lot I don't know about the wizarding world. Most people think it's pretty certain he was their secret keeper, but how many of them know enough about the Fidelius Charm to really know for sure?”

“What gets me, Harry,” Ron said, “is that you're taking Malfoy at his word about all this. Now Draco might be on our side, I dunno, but his father sure isn't. He could have been lying to Draco, especially if he thought Draco was going to relay this information back to you, Harry.”

“That is a good point,” Harry conceded. “Still... I find it weird that someone who was so happy at my parents' wedding could have betrayed them. It's possible, I guess, but do you understand that I just want to be sure, before I condemn the man? I'm going to continue digging into this, without putting myself at risk. I promise you, I'm not going to go looking for Black.”

This, finally, appeared to mollify his two friends.

“What's that noise?” Ron said, suddenly, having only noticed it in the sudden silence.

A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all around the compartment. Harry cocked his head, tracing the source.

“It’s coming from your trunk, Harry,” said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry’s robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and glowing brilliantly.

“Is that a _Sneakoscope_?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.

“Yeah … mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron said. “It went haywire at the dinner table the night I got it. But then, the twins were putting beetles in Percy's soup.”

Harry grabbed the noisy thing and shoved it in some old socks, then started digging through his trunk for a place to stow it. He spotted the box Antigone had given him. He wondered if he wanted to put it in there or not. It was tempting, but in the end, since he was the only person in Hogwarts who could open it, as far as he knew, he decided against it, in case it wasn't soundproofed. Besides, even if it was fake jewels, he didn't think flashing it on the train was a wise idea. He'd show Hermione later.

“What could be setting it off now, I wonder?” Harry asked himself as he put it away somewhere in his trunk where it couldn't be heard.

That was a stumper of a question, as it turned out. Harry trusted the other two with his life, and if Dumbledore trusted Professor Lupin, it couldn't be him. That just left Hedwig and Crookshanks, who were animals. Well, and Scabbers, another animal, but he'd been Ron's pet for years, so that couldn't be it, either.

Ron shrugged. “Dunno, mate. It's a cheap thing, probably not working right.”

But Harry wasn't sure. His magical translator glasses were still working alright, and even a cheap magical item surely couldn't be breaking already, could it? Or could it? Ron had been in this world longer than he had, so he must know better about these things. After all, what if their roles were reversed? What if Harry had gotten Ron a cheap plastic toy from a burger joint? Those things broke within minutes, sometimes.

“Yeah, that must be it,” Harry said.

Ron and Hermione went on to discuss their summers. Harry took out a book, but he was only pretending to read. He was, in fact, thinking about Sirius Black again, and how his father could have been fooled.

Intellectually, Harry knew his father had been human, and humans make mistakes. Heck, even non-human people made mistakes. It was life. But on an emotional level, he couldn't make heads or tails of it. If only there was someone to talk with about this, someone who wouldn't scoff or argue, someone who already was thinking along the same lines he was.

Then it came to him: Draco! He stood up, putting his book aside.

“You going somewhere, mate?”

“Yeah. Uh... the loo,” he said. It was a lie, yes, but he didn't want to hear Ron's arguments if he told the truth.

Ron nodded. Hermione looked sceptical. But Harry ignored her and left the compartment, searching the train for Draco.

After a few minutes, he literally ran into a nervous-looking Draco, both boys falling over from the impact.

“Ouch! Watch it, you--- Harry? Oh, sorry about that,” Draco said, blushing. With his skin as pale as it was, he lit up like a traffic light when he blushed. He stood up, and helped Harry to his feet.

“I'm sorry, too, Draco. I should've paid more attention to where I was going. Anyway, I was looking for you.”

“Good, good,” Draco said, distracted, looking back behind him with a worried expression on his face. “Let's find a compartment.”

“Every one I've checked so far was pretty much full. I think the emptiest one I saw was the one I'd been in with Ron and Hermione, and the new Defense teacher.”

“A teacher? On the train? Only adults I've ever seen on the train once we left was the witch pushing the trolley and the conductor.”

“Yeah, us too. But he's there. He's been sleeping the whole time, so far.”

Draco looked behind himself again, then back at Harry. “Okay, sure, let's go there.”

Harry sighed. “I'll have to explain this to Ron. He still doesn't really like or trust you.”

“Yes, well, that makes sense. Our families have so often been at odds. But still, let's go there anyway,” he said, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him along, despite not knowing which compartment Harry had been in.

“Draco!” Harry cried out, trying hard not to fall over. “Draco, slow down!”

“Which one is it, anyway?” Draco asked, looking around.

Harry pulled out of Draco's grasp. “What is your problem today?”

Draco sighed. “If you must know, I'm avoiding Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Why?”

“Well... it's complicated. But the short version is they're angry. And you know what they're like when they're angry.”

“Ah,” Harry said. “It's over here.”

Harry opened the door and the two boys ducked in.

“Oy, what's he doing here?”

“He's trying to escape Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry said, ignoring Draco's exasperated expression.

Ron looked about to say something scathing, but something made him stop and think instead. If he was remembering the same thing Harry was, he was about to realize that this made sense.

“Ah,” Ron said. “Alright then.”

With no more said, Draco sat down next to Harry.

“You said you were looking for me, Harry? What for?” Draco asked.

Ignoring Hermione's 'I was right' look, Harry said, “I was thinking about Black again. I was kind of wanting a private discussion with you.”

Hermione nudged Ron, who was in the middle of examining a Chocolate Frog card, to see if he had that one already or not.

“Oy, what'd you do that for?”

She just gave him a look.

“Fine, fine. I have to go to the loo myself anyway. For real.”

When the two friends left the compartment, Draco looked over at Professor Lupin with a brief look of curiosity at first, then disgust. At Harry's answering look of annoyance, though, Draco held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Sorry. Old habits, you know. Not everyone can be as fortunate as a Malfoy, I know I shouldn't judge. Just...”

“Never mind that for now,” Harry said, in lieu of accepting the apology. “So, I was wondering what else you could tell me about Black. Or about the Death Eaters, anything might help.”

“Well, I don't know a lot about it. Father doesn't talk much about it. He's trying to keep up the pretense of innocence, after all. But he lets things slip sometimes. And I notice things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, little things. Like the way he talks about some of his friends, has made me suspect some of them were Death Eaters, too. Vincent's father, Gregory's father.”

“The elder Crabbe and Goyle, you mean?”

“Yes. Also MacNair, works at the ministry now, disposing of dangerous animals.”

“Sounds like a job a Death Eater might enjoy.”

“MacNair does seem to enjoy his job, yes. But going on, Knott's father was one too, I'll bet.”

“Any others?”

“Well, Aunt Bellatrix, but she's in prison now.”

“Aunt Bellatrix?” Harry asked, offering Draco a Bertie Bott's.

Draco took the proffered gift, opening it as he spoke. “Yeah. My mother's sister. Narcissa Malfoy nee Black.”

“Wait, your mom and your aunt are related to this Sirius Black fellow?”

“Yeah. He's their brother. I guess that makes Sirius Black my uncle. Or it would have, if the family hadn't disowned him for being a Griffindor, and a blood traitor.”

“Blood traitor?”

“That's what the purebloods call other purebloods who are... who believe in equality for Muggle-borns, and fair treatment of Muggles.” Draco sighed. “Which makes me a blood traitor now, I guess.”

“Does that...” Harry trailed off. “Are your parents going to disown you?”

Draco snorted. “I doubt it. I'm their only child. The sole heir. And my parents were lucky to have me. Pureblood families tend to be large, lots of children. Well the Weasleys have that part down pat. And my mother, of course, had one sister, Aunt Bellatrix LeStrange nee Black. But try as they might, I have no siblings. I doubt either of them would dare to disown me, no matter what I did. Besides, mother loves me too dearly to do so, even if I had brothers and sisters.”

“Your mother was a Black? Any relation to Sirius Black?”

“Yes, Sirius Black is my mother's cousin. And he had a brother, Regulus Arcturus Black. Never met him, he died during the last war. He was a Death Eater, but he turned against the Dark Lord, supposedly. Though how he died, nobody knows. His body was never found.”

“Your family is fond of naming people after stars, it seems. Only your mother was named after something else, a flower in her case. Gives us something else in common. My mother was Lily.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, smiling wryly. “It's a Black family tradition, naming kids after stars or constellations.”

“Did you know that your father was responsible for the events of last year?” Harry asked him gently.

Draco's head jerked up to look at Harry. “He was? Seriously?”

“Yes. He slipped an old diary of Vol---er, of the Dark Lord's, into Ginny Weasley's cauldron at Flourish and Blotts before school started. It was ensorcelled somehow, seemed to have a piece of his mind inside it, or more. In the Chamber of Secrets, it was coming alive as it drained her of life. I killed it before he could return.”

The pale boy's face went even paler, which Harry hadn't thought possible, his grey eyes wide with terror. He clutched his head, and began trembling.

“The Dark Lord almost... almost returned?”

“Yes. But I stopped him. And used the dead diary to trick your father into freeing Dobby.”

“Dobby?” Draco said, regaining some of his composure. “What does our old house elf have to do with it?”

Harry explained briefly what had happened, how Dobby had kept warning him and trying to prevent him coming to school, then trying to get him injured enough to be sent home.

“He nearly killed you several times, and you rewarded him for it?”

“Yes, well, he _was_ trying to save my life. And your father treated him terribly, kicking him right in front of Dumbledore and me.”

Draco sat there, many emotions crossing his face as he thought. If Harry had to guess, he'd say Draco was suppressing an urge to scoff at the pain of a creature like a house elf, then thought better of it. The blonde boy's series of emotions stopped at what looked like a reluctant thoughtfulness, like he hadn't really thought about it before, and still needed to do more thinking to sort out his feelings about a creature like Dobby, but recognizing Harry's feelings and trying to see his point of view.

“Ah, yes. I do remember that,” Draco said. “I wasn't very nice to Dobby either. I wouldn't blame him if he attacked me, now he's free. I was never as bad as Father, but not by a lot. I have a lot of my parents' garbage to clear out of my head. I'm glad I have someone to help me figure out what's garbage and what isn't.”

“You're welcome.”

“Anyway, we got off track, didn't we? We were discussing the Death Eaters. I almost forgot to mention one other thing; my father always wears long sleeves. Always. I've never seen his bare arms.”

“What's special about that?”

“On its own, nothing really. But I've noticed Father seems particularly keen on hiding his left arm for some reason. I don't know if it means anything or not, but it might.” Draco sat there thinking for another few moments before continuing. “Dobby might know something more. Dobby was Father's personal elf. We had others. Still do. Anyway, Dobby drew Father's bath and helped him in and out of his clothes. My own elf did the same for me, until the day I decided I didn't want anything looking at me nude, and insisted on doing it myself.”

“Well, I was assigned one of the Hogwarts house elves, to help protect me from the Dursleys while I'm staying there, and she comes when I call at other times, too. I could see if she can find Dobby and bring him to the castle for me to question.”

Draco was about to respond, when the door to the compartment opened, revealing Crabbe and Goyle, both cracking their knuckles. Draco stood up, hiding his fear behind a mask of bravado.

“You two!” he said sharply, like it was an insult.

“Malfoy,” Crabbe said. “You need to come with us now, so we can finish our talk.”

“Ha! Talk! As if!” Draco said, his knees shaking just visibly. “I'll go nowhere with you.”

“Now or later, Draco, you can't avoid us forever. We're in the same House.”

“It'll have to be later, then, because I was in the middle of a conversation with Harry here.”

“On a first name basis now, eh?” Goyle sneered. “Your blood traitor pal can't protect you forever, Malfoy!”

“Blood traitor or not, Goyle, if either of you lay a finger on me, my father will hear of this!”

“And what'll he do, exactly? Get us a detention?”

“Yeah,” Crabbe said. “Boo hoo, cry to yer daddy.”

“You dare not doing anything here, we're right in front of a teacher,” Draco pointed out, gesturing at Lupin.

This scared the two boys where Draco's bravado hadn't. Thick as they were, they knew better than to fight in front of a teacher.

“Fine. Later, then,” Goyle said, closing the door behind him as they left.

“Dare I ask?”

“I---”

“Your friends popped by, I see,” Ron said as he opened the door.

“They're not my friends anymore.”

“I know, we heard everything,” Ron said, sounding sympathetic. He sat down across from Draco. “I guess if Crabbe and Goyle want to beat you up, that means we're on the same side.”

“And I wasn't before?”

Hermione sat down next to Ron.

“Ron wasn't convinced, before. But you are now, I take it?” Hermione asked.

“Not completely. I'm still gonna keep an eye on you. But the evidence is in your favor.”

“I'm thrilled, of course,” Draco said, a bit of the old sneer returning to his voice.

“Anyway,” Ron said, opening another Chocolate Frog. “Were you two done, or did we need to go wander the train some more?”

Draco looked at Harry. Harry looked back at Draco, and shrugged. Draco shrugged at Ron.

“Good enough for me.” Ron said, cramming a Chocolate Frog into his mouth, and looking up at Professor Lupin.

Hermione's eyes went the same place as Ron's. “Good Heavens, is he _still_ asleep?”

Ron swallowed his frog. “ _Is_ he asleep, though? He might be dead.”

“No, he's still breathing.”

“I wonder what's got him so tired he's sleeping on a noisy train full of people talking?” Draco wondered aloud.

“What, no snide comment about the state of his clothes?” Ron asked.

Draco did not dignify this with an answer. Merely took a Pumpkin Pasty and bit into it.

“So,” Draco said some minutes later, breaking the silence, “Hogsmeade sounds fun.”

“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain.

“I reckon it is,” Ron said, “but that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”

“Ah yes,” Draco said, with an air of remembering something pleasant. “Father's taken me there before, several years ago. It is quite nice. It was a little disappointing over the summer, when business is so poor it's a wonder they weren't shut for the season. I look forward to seeing it at its peak, with all the Hogwarts students inside it.”

“Honeydukes? What's that?” asked Hermione.

A sneer flickered across Draco's face, almost too fast to notice. But Ron noticed.

“It's a sweetshop,” Ron explained, his expression changing to one of bliss as he thought about it. “I've been there, too. They have everything! Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you’re thinking what to write next.”

“If you use quills,” Harry said. “I'd use a pen and paper if I could. As it is, I had to get a special quill from McGonagall.”

“Pen and paper? You mean that Muggle stuff?”

“Oh, like a train isn't a Muggle thing. And Muggles used to wear robes too, you know,” Harry said.

“I wasn't saying anything bad about it. Just wanting to make sure I understood,” Draco said a little stiffly.

“Sorry. It's just, paper takes ink so much better than parchment. And Muggles gave up on parchment ages ago, because for them paper is so much easier to make and use. You know parchment is sheep skin, right? It's a wonder it takes ink at all. And you'd think the wizarding world would've gotten at least as far as a fountain pen. Has a quill-like tip, you see, and uses ink, but uses suction power to hold in a fair amount of ink, so you don't have to dip it in the ink very often.”

“Isn't that basically a Muggle version of the purple quills I've seen you and Granger using?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. I still prefer paper and ballpoint pen, though. I still use that for non-school stuff. With the money my folks left me, I got some nice metal ones. Ballpoint pens let the ink flow enough to write with, without making ink splotches, which you get with quills and fountain pens.”

“Muggle quills, maybe. Wizarding quills don't mess as much. Sure, there's the occasional blot when you're holding the pen up, thinking what to write, but beyond that, there are spells on our quills to keep them from making messes when writing with them. Also, they're charmed to hold more ink than Muggle quills. But since Muggles don't have magic, I guess they _would_ need to come up with some sort of non-magical equivalent.”

“Oh, so you don't use random feathers for quills?” Harry asked.

“No self-respecting wizard uses _random feathers_ for a quill, they buy them. Quills are cheap enough even W-- er, even those with very little to their names can buy them for 20 a knut. The spells on them are simple enough even a third year student could cast them, so they're not difficult to make.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, glaring at Draco, “but cheap quills don't last long before they start having the same problems as non-magic quills. The spells wear off.”

“So you re-cast the spells, Weasley. Problem solved.”

“Eh,” Harry said. “This is all moot. I use ballpoint pen and paper when I can, and the purple quills McGonagall gave me when I can't. It's what I'm used to.”

“Well, let me try it sometime, Harry,” Draco said. “Dipping a quill, even an expensive, long-lasting quill, gets tiresome at times. But tell me... how does one dip a ball point pen?”

“You don't. They have their own ink supplies, in little tubes of plastic or metal. The tubes last for weeks, even months. Years, if you don't use the pen often. And when the tube is empty, you replace it. At least, you do for the refillable kinds. The cheaper pens are disposable, you just throw them away when they run out of ink.”

“Throw them away? How wasteful.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But they're even cheaper than cheap quills. I don't know how much a knut is in Muggle money, off the top of my head, but for one pound you can get 20 disposable pens. Maybe even more.”

“Pound?” Ron asked. “What, it weighs a whole pound?”

“It's a unit of Muggle money, here in the UK. It doesn't have anything to do with the unit of weight, as far as I know of.”

“Well, actually,” Hermione began.

“Please don't, Hermione,” Ron said. Hermione huffed, but said nothing, and soon forgot her ire.

“Well that got off track,” Draco said. “Diverting, of course, but we were talking about Hogsmeade, I believe?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it? In _Sites of Historical Sorcery_ it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain!”

“Oh yeah,” Ron interrupted, “and Honeyduke's has these massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re sucking them.”

“Fizzing Whizbees, yes,” Draco said, looking enraptured.

Hermione looked around at Harry.

“Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?”

“ ’Spect it will,” said Harry heavily. “You’ll have to tell me when you’ve found out.”

“What d’you mean?” said Ron.

“I can’t go. The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form. By the time I got the letter, I was in Egypt with you lot, and I never went back, did I? Anyway, I reckon I won't be allowed to come, what with Black out to kill me.”

“Harry Potter, not allowed to come to Hogsmeade?” Draco said, preempting Ron. “Even if you weren't famous, you're of an old family; that alone makes it a minor scandal, if they don't let you go. I could talk to my father for you. We haven't been getting along much lately, but... oh wait, you cost him his servant, I guess he wouldn't be too keen on helping you. Still an outrage, though. You should ask your head of House. Or Dumbledore, if you can reach him.”

Ron looked askance at Draco. “I thought you didn't like Dumbledore?”

“My father doesn't like him. I didn't either, when I parroted father's beliefs. Now... now, I don't know _what_ I think of Dumbledore. I have to make up my own mind now, and I don't have enough information with which to form an opinion.”

“But if you're on our side, surely that means you like Dumbledore?”

Draco snorted. “I'm not going to put blind faith in a man just because we agree on a few things. He is a powerful man, but power tends to go to people's heads. Dumbledore may not be in the Ministry, but he's in the Wizengamot, and he's the headmaster of the only school of magic in the UK, as well as being a major player in the last war, fighting against the Dark Lord. It would be wise to be wary of powerful men. Even the best intentioned of them can make disastrous decisions.

“Anyway,” Draco said, turning to Harry. “If you want, I could fake a signature for you. If you're given permission by a guardian, they can't deny you without a good reason, like punishment for something.”

“I thought of that already. But I don't have any samples of his signature; I don't know if the school does or not either, so I don't know if they could compare it to something and prove me a liar. And if there was even the slightest doubt, given that I haven't had an opportunity to even ask them, the teachers could show up at their door and check to see if it was legitimate, and then I'd be in real trouble.”

“So you're just going to accept defeat?”

“Did I say that? No. I'll think of something.”

“But Harry, if Black is after you--”

“Yes, Hermione, I know your concern. But even if he is, there will be hundreds of students there, as well as teachers and other adults.”

Hermione didn't answer, but not for lack of wanting to. Instead, she fumbled with the straps of Crookshanks’s basket.

“Don’t let that thing out!” Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron’s knees; the lump in Ron’s pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away.

“Get out of here!”

“Ron, don’t!” said Hermione angrily.

Ron was about to answer back when Professor Lupin stirred. They watched him apprehensively, but he simply turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and slept on.

Draco smirked at Ron. “Is Ronald Weasley afraid of a little cat?”

“Little? That thing is the size of a small lion,” Ron said. “But anyway, I'm not afraid for my sake, I'm afraid for Scabbers' sake. That beast keeps trying to eat Scabbers.”

“Oh,” said Draco. “Well Granger, maybe if you told your cat to leave other people's pets alone, he would?”

“Call me Hermione.”

“Of course, Hermione. And you may call me Draco.”

“Good. Anyway, Draco, I've already talked with him, he knows better.”

“Ah, well there you are, then.”

There was a silence, in which Draco finally leaned forward to get a better look at the cat. “That cat looks like he's run into a wall,” he said.

“Hey!” Ron snapped. “We're not good enough friends yet. Only I or Harry or one of the others can make fun of Hermione's cat!”

“Ron! I don't want _anybody_ making fun of my cat!”

“My apologies,” Draco said, sounding sincere.

Hermione gawped at him. “Um... thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Something occurred to Draco then, and he smiled at Ron. “'We're not good enough friends,'” he repeated Ron's words. “Does this mean we _are_ friends, then?”

“No it bloody well does not. We're acquaintances. It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Ah, my mistake then,” Draco said, still smiling.

Ron mumbled something, which sounded to Harry like “I'll hit that smug look off your face if you're not quiet, Malfoy.” Draco looked like he heard too, but didn't respond, except to smirk even more.

 

The rest of the afternoon passed in reasonably good spirits, despite the stormy weather outside as they got closer to Hogwarts. They discussed this and that, mostly potential MAC meetings, the return of Wizard Studies since Dumbledore was back, and wondering what food would be at the feast. Once in a while, Ron tried to get Draco to say what Crabbe and Goyle were angry with him for, but Draco would go conveniently deaf at these times, so Ron gave up for a while. Crookshanks settled on Draco's lap, something Ron didn't seem to be able to decide what he felt about, but mostly seemed to look like he'd find it funny if the bandy-legged cat attacked Draco instead of Scabbers, for a change.

Harry got up at one point to find Luna, but she was in a crowded compartment with Neville, Ginny, Antigone, and Angela. He went looking for Danzia, and found her with the Slytherin boy, Willem Stone, whom Harry recognized from Wizard Studies. They were with several others Harry didn't know, but looked to be other friends of Willem.

Returning to the compartment with Ron, Draco, and Hermione in it, Harry stared out the window at the weather, thinking about what Draco had told him earlier.

“We must be nearly there,” said Ron after a time, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window.

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

“Great,” said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. “I’m starving. I want to get to the feast.”

Draco frowned, and consulted a wristwatch. “We _can't_ be there yet. It's too early by far.”

“Yes, Draco's right,” Hermione agreed, checking her own watch.

“Then why are we stopping?”

“I don't know. Should we speak with the driver?” Hermione wondered.

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

Harry got up, walked past Draco to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

“What’s going on?” said Ron’s voice from behind Harry.

“Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!”

Harry felt his way back to his seat.

“Harry, that's my hair, don't muss it up,” Draco said, batting his hand away.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

“God, now I have to comb it again, and I don't have a mirror.”

“Vain, much?” Ron said. “It doesn't matter what you look like, you prat! If you haven't noticed, it's dark in here.”

“Thank you, Weasley, but I _did_ notice the darkness, on account of my being unable to see.”

“Oh stop bickering, you two,” Harry said.

“D’you think we’ve broken down?” Hermione asked.

“Dunno …”

There was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

“There’s something moving out there,” Ron said. “I think people are coming aboard.”

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell over onto Draco's lap.

“OUCH! Who is that? Who's there?”

“Malfoy?” Neville asked, incredulous. “Sorry, I was looking for Harry.”

“I'm over here, Neville.”

“Oh. Hi, Harry.”

Harry fumbled around to help Neville up, but Draco beat him to it.

“Here, Longbottom, I'll help you up. Don't give me that silence, it's not a trick. Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine.”

“Thanks, Malfoy. Does anyone know what's happening?” Neville asked.

“No idea,” Harry answered. “Here, sit between Draco and me, I think there's just enough room.”

“Yes, don't mind me,” Draco said sincerely. “I used to ride the train with Crabbe and Goyle. Those two practically fill an entire compartment just by themselves.”

“Used to?”

“Not now, Neville. Sit down.”

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

“Ouch! Longbottom, you just made that cat scratch me!”

“Sorry, Malfoy.”

“I’m going to go and ask the driver what’s going on,” came Hermione’s voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s _that_?”

“Ginny?”

“Hermione?”

“What are you doing?”

“I was looking for Ron —”

“Come in and sit down —”

“Not here!” said Harry hurriedly. “ _I’m_ here!”

“Ouch!” said Neville.

“There isn't room!” Draco practically shouted.

“Malfoy?” Ginny asked, incredulous.

“Why does everyone always sound so surprised I'm here?”

“Quiet!” said a hoarse voice suddenly.

Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Harry could hear movements in his corner. None of them spoke.

There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

“Stay where you are,” he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry’s eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water.

But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry’s gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart.

Harry’s eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn’t see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder...

And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn’t … a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him —

“Harry! Harry! Are you all right?”

Someone was slapping his face.

“Potter! You alive, Potter?”

“What's with the sudden formality, Draco?”

“I thought it would sound more familiar in your state.”

Harry opened his eyes, to see several familiar faces looking down at him. The lights were back on, too, he noticed. And the train was moving again. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron, Hermione, and Draco were kneeling over him; above them he could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. They all looked shaken, but Draco was pale and clammy. Suddenly, Harry realized Draco's voice had been full of anxiety, verging on panic.

“Good, he's awake. I'm going to go huddle in a ball in the corner now,” Draco said, leaving Harry's sight. The two remaining kneeling over him helped him up. Harry felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face.

Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked nervously.

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature had vanished. “What happened? Where’s that — that thing? Who screamed?”

“That would be Malfoy,” Ron said.

“No, there was a woman screaming.”

“Like I said, that was Malfoy.”

“Har har. No, seriously, I heard a woman scream. She was screaming words, too.”

“No, the only screaming was Malfoy's. No joke,” he said, sounding worried.

Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very pale. Draco was in the corner, hugging his legs, staring and gibbering.

“But I heard screaming —”

A loud snap made them all jump. Draco squealed in fright. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

“Here,” he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. “Eat it. It’ll help.”

Harry took the chocolate but didn’t eat it.

“What was that thing?” he asked Lupin.

“A dementor,” said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. “One of the dementors of Azkaban.”

“ _Those_ things are the Azkaban guards?” Harry asked, shocked.

“Yes.”

Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

“Eat,” he repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me …”

He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.

“I don’t get it. … What happened?” said Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.

“I'm kinda curious myself, to be honest,” Ron said. “I thought you were having one of your headaches, at first, but then you slid to the floor and started twitching, having a fit of some kind.”

“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand,” said Hermione, “and he said, ‘None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.’ But the dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away. …”

“It was horrible,” said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. “Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?”

“I felt weird,” said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I’d never be cheerful again.”

Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around her. Neville stared at Draco, as if wondering if he should comfort the blond boy, then apparently thought better of it.

“But didn’t any of you — fall off your seats?” said Harry awkwardly.

“No,” said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. “Ginny was shaking like mad, though. And Malfoy was screaming and crying.”

Harry looked to Draco, who was too lost in his own emotions, apparently, to have a clever comeback against Ron.

Harry didn’t understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had? Well, not as bad as anyone else, anyway.

Professor Lupin had come back. He paused as he entered, looked around, and said, with a small smile, “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know. …”

Harry took a bite and to his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,” said Professor Lupin. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry said, not asking how the man knew his name. He figured the scar gave it away. Given how pale his skin was, judging by his hand, the scar doubtless stood out like an angry wound.

“Why was that dementor here?”

“Looking for Sirius Black. Some of them are stationed at Hogsmeade, and around the school's perimeter. Dumbledore won't let them onto the grounds.”

“Thank goddess for that,” Harry said.

“Ah, so you're of the old religion?” Lupin asked, brightly.

“Yeah. Haven't done a lot, yet. Still doing reading.”

“Well I know of a few books in the library that will help with that. Books you might have overlooked, with Ms. Pince's... peculiar... system of organizing things. Did you know that Halloween is an important holiday in the old religion? Marked the de---er, the passing of one year into the next. And the end of the harvest season.”

“Really? Er... wasn't that also when my parents died?”

Lupin looked very sorrowful, suddenly. “Y-yes,” he said with a cracking voice. “It was. But Halloween, or Samhain as it was called, is also a time when the veil between the worlds is thinnest, when its said to be the best time to communicate with the spirits of the dead.”

“What's that word, 'Saw-when'?”

“Yes, that's how it's said. It's Welsh, I believe. Spelled S-A-M-H-A-I-N. A lot of people mispronounce it 'sam hayn,' but it's 'saw-when.' Anyway, you should eat more of that chocolate. I'll get you those books tomorrow.”

Nobody spoke the rest of the way. The only sounds came from the train itself, or animals like Neville's toad or Hermione's cat. When they stopped, there was a lot more noise as everyone clamored to get out. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

“Firs’ years this way!” called the familiar voice of Hagrid. Harry, Ron, and Hermione waved to him. Harry had to wave with his left hand, because his right was helping Draco, who was still in a near-catatonic state. Draco seemed to be doing better; by the time they reached the horseless carriages, he was standing and walking on his own, and looked a little calmer.

The four of them climbed into a carriage with Ginny. Harry was a bit annoyed that he hadn't had a chance to chat with Luna yet, but it's not like she'd be hard to find.

As the carriage trundled past the iron gates of the school, Harry saw two more of the towering, cloaked dementors, and felt a wave of cold sickness threatening to engulf him again. He was very glad when they were past, and parking up by the front doors of the castle.

“You _fainted,_ Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually _fainted_?”

Harry turned to look at the source of the voice, but was unsurprised to see Goyle. But somebody _was_ surprised.

“He speaks?” Ginny said in wonderment. “That bipedal gorilla can _speak_?”

“Goyle isn't a gorilla, however much he may look like one. And smell like one. Gorillas are gentle creatures, usually.”

“Oh, my mistake. Should've known. He's more like a cross between a really fat flobberworm and a very small troll.”

“And you, Malfoy, screaming like a little girl, I hear,” said Goyle.

“Funny,” Harry said, turning to Ginny. “All that grunting; if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was language.”

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione began to guffaw or giggle. Even Draco smiled.

Harry grinned. Not being great at coming up with comebacks on the fly, Harry spent a lot of his free time running through various scenarios in his mind, rehearsing for social situations that might come up. And comebacks were a subset of such social situations. Harry was very clever when he was writing or thinking on his own, but in the presence of other people, that cleverness sometimes broke down. So he compensated for this by rehearsing, and it worked pretty well. By now, he had a whole litany of rehearsed lines he could use, even against Voldemort.

Either undaunted by Harry's wit, or – more likely – too thick to have worked out he was being insulted, Goyle kept on.

“Did you faint as well, Weasley?” said Goyle loudly. “Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?”

“Is there a problem?” said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just gotten out of the next carriage.

Goyle gave Lupin a dumb stare, as though a wildebeest in pajamas had just recited Shakespeare at him, and gave Lupin a good look up and down, taking in his shabby robes.

“Er...” Goyle said, having apparently burned through his week's supply of wit like a candle made of napalm. “No, Professor.”

“Then move along, please. The feast awaits.”

Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him hurry, and the three of them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.

The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Harry followed the crowd toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, “Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!”

Harry and Hermione turned around, surprised. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House, was calling over the heads of the crowd. She was a stern-looking witch who wore her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought his way over to her with a feeling of foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done something wrong.

“There’s no need to look so worried — I just want a word in my office,” she told them. “Move along there, Weasley, Malfoy.”

McGonagall then did a double-take, apparently only now realizing Malfoy had been hanging out with the golden trio, but she said nothing about it.

Harry sighed, thinking he had an idea what this was about. Glancing back briefly at Ron and Draco, he went with McGonagall and Hermione.

As it turned out, he was right. Professor Lupin had sent an owl ahead about him, and now she and Madam Pomfrey were fussing over him. He insisted to them that he didn't need help, explaining about getting chocolate from Lupin. Harry didn't want to miss the Sorting. He got out of there fast as he could. McGonagall requested he stay to wait for Hermione, but as it wasn't an order (or at least it could be argued that it hadn't been an order), he went to the feast instead, sneaking in under a Disillusionment Charm. Little Professor Flitwick, who looked as short as a goblin, was in the middle of the Sorting. Everyone was so intent on the sorting that nobody noticed him making himself visible once he was sitting next to Ron. Not until he started clapping for all the new students, even the Slytherins, as was his custom; it made Ron jump and spin round to face him.

“Where's Hermione?”

“Still back with McGonagall, I suspect.”

Another Slytherin student got Sorted, so Harry clapped and cheered; he was the only one at the Griffindor table to do so. Though he noticed Luna, over at the Ravenclaw table, was doing the same thing he was.

When the Sorting was over and Flitwick began putting the Sorting Hat away, Hermione showed up, looking annoyed.

“You didn't wait for me!” she hissed at Harry.

“I didn't want to miss the Sorting. I'm the only Griffindor who ever applauds the Slytherins.”

She sighed. “Right. I guess I forgive you. But McGonagall wasn't happy, either.”

Sure enough, as the stern witch went up to her empty seat at the high table, she gave Harry a disapproving look.

“She didn't order me to stay, just requested I stay. I decided I'd rather not.”

Hermione sighed. “I wish she'd seen us _after_ the feast. I wanted to see the Sorting.”

“So what was that all about?” Ron asked.

Harry started to explain in a whisper, but at that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off.

“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

He paused, and Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley had said about Dumbledore not being happy with the dementors guarding the school.

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — not even Disillusionment Charms, nor even Invisibility Cloaks,” he added blandly, and Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors,” he said.

Harry couldn't help notice Percy, who was Head Boy, puff up with pride. He smiled fondly for the older boy. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.

“On a happier note,” he continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

“ _Two_?” Harry heard Ron say.

“First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry among them. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

“Look at Snape!” Ron hissed in Harry’s ear.

“Do I have to?” Professor Snape hated Harry for ridiculous and childish reasons, and the dislike was mutual. But he looked anyway.

He was astonished. He'd thought Snape hated him, but judging by the look the hook-nosed Potions Master was giving Lupin, Harry was simply an annoyance by comparison. He detested Lupin, loathed and despised him. If humans had the power to kill with a look, Lupin would be dropping dead before their eyes, and probably the wall behind him would be scorched as well.

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at one another, stunned. Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Harry leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

“We should’ve known!” Ron roared, pounding the table. “Who else would have assigned us a biting book?”

Harry anticipated more speech, but Dumbledore was done. The feast had begun, and they all started loading up their plates.

“Well Hagrid will be thrilled. Though with his fondness for monsters, I'm not sure if _we_ will,” Harry said honestly.

“I'm happy for him. I don't care how his classes are.”

“Don't get me wrong, I am too. But I think we should probably wear thick leather armor to his classes.”

“Shm wh dnt gd nny,” Ron uttered.

“Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron,” Hermione chided.

Ron swallowed. “I said, 'Shame we didn't get any.' Armor, I mean.”

“Oh, it'll be fine,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Madam Pomfrey can heal anything.”

The two boys snickered. Even Hermione found it hard not to smile.

 

After the feast, the three of them congratulated a joyous Hagrid, but also tried to warn him not to do anything too monstrous or spectacular for his first day. Draco might be on their side, but there were other Slytherins who weren't, and who knew what kind of trouble they might brew up.

As they left the Great Hall, though, they found out it wasn't just Slytherins they had to worry about. They overheard a blond Hufflepuff boy, Zacharias Smith, talking to someone else about Harry, and not in a good way.

“I don't care who you heard it from first, Longbottom was saying the same thing. Potter fainted on the train, had some kind of fit. He's always having funny turns, headaches. I think that curse may have addled his brains. He doesn't seem right, you know? Never looks you in the eye, have you noticed that? Instead, he looks at your mouth, like he's deaf.”

“You're being shallow, Smith,” the other boy responded.

“Am I? I haven't even started on his oddities. He twitches sometimes, in odd ways, like he's a snake trying to shed its skin and not having any luck. And speaking of snakes, befriending a snake in second year? Palling around with Slytherins, too. Even Malfoy has latched onto him now, if you can believe it. You know his father was a Death Eater, right? Probably trained his son in the dark arts, too.

“And as to Potter,” Smith continued, “all these Dementors are because of him, I've heard.”

“What? No way, where'd you hear that?”

“My father knows someone who works at the Ministry, and she says that Minister Fudge said that Sirius Black escaped to kill Potter.”

“I guess that makes sense...”

Whatever else they were saying got cut off, as the Hufflepuffs went down the stairs to their common room. Harry glared after Smith.

“Ignore him, Harry.”

“I'll try, Hermione.” He looked up. “Drat and blast, I missed Luna. She and the other Ravenclaws are already gone.”

“You'll see her later, Harry.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, I wish I'd gotten to talk with her on the train.”

“Well, you didn't talk with Danzia or the others on the train, either.”

“Gee, thanks for reminding me. At least I got to see Luna over the summer, a little.”

When they got to the Griffindor portrait hole, guarded by the Fat Lady, they stopped and waited for Percy to tell them all the password.

“Coming through, coming through!” Percy called from behind the crowd. “The new password’s ‘Fortuna Major’!”

“Oh no,” said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble remembering the passwords.

“It's Latin, Neville. Means 'Major Fortune.'”

“Thanks, Harry, but I don't think that will work.”

“Just try repeating it to yourself over and over again for a few minutes every now and then, or for an hour straight, until you remember it. Do it now and then for days if you have to. You repeat something often enough, you'll remember it.”

“Yeah, but I'm tired. I want to go to bed, and I'll forget by morning.”

“Well I'll wait up for you, tell you what it is in the morning, okay? Then you can repeat it in your mind on your way to breakfast, and while you eat.”

“I suppose so.”

Ron, Neville, and Harry went up to their dormitory and got ready for bed. Harry lay in bed thinking about Neville, and Ron. He knew, from Ron using a few simple spells to test his new wand at Ollivander's, that Ron was finding it much easier to cast magic with a new wand, with his own wand. How much of that was due to the ancient age of the dead wand, and how much of it was because this wand chose him? Ollivander had told him the wand chooses the wizard, but Ron's wand had been hand-me-down. So too was Neville's wand, it having been his father's wand, though it looked practically brand new. Was it a coincidence that the two boys, both with wands that hadn't chosen them, were bad at magic? Or was Ollivander more right than he'd let on?

Then another thought occurred to him. If Neville was using his dad's wand, when it looked in such perfect condition, _why_ was he using his dad's wand? Ron had used Charlie's old wand because his family couldn't afford one for Ron. Charlie was presumably making enough money working with dragons to afford a brand new wand of his own, so had given his old, worn out wand to his brother. But why would Neville's father give a perfectly good wand to his son, rather than buy him a new one?

Harry remembered Neville lived with his Gran. He'd never heard the other boy mention his parents, except in connection to the wand, or when telling about how his Gran was disappointed at Neville not being more magical. No, he'd only ever talked about his Gran and Uncle Algae, specifically. Were Neville's parents dead? Did they die in the last war? Did Voldemort kill them? The few times he could remember Neville mentioning his parents, there was a strange sort of emotion on his face there, something like a mix of sadness, worry, and pride. Harry wondered what that meant.

Tired as Harry was, he kept thinking about Neville, and Ron, and wands, because he knew if he didn't, he'd think about Sirius Black. It was frustrating, thinking about that man. He didn't know what to think about Black. Part of him wanted the whole thing to have been a misunderstanding, for Black to be innocent somehow, so he could connect with his dad's best friend, anyone who had really known his parents as something other than a student at Hogwarts.

That part of him wanted Black to be innocent so he could stop having doubts about his own friends, or more accurately stop having doubts about his ability to judge their character. But that was hard; contrary to popular opinion, people with Asperger's don't generally lack empathy; Harry knew, from his own experience mostly, that he could tell what others were feeling just fine. What bewildered him a lot was _why_ they felt the way they did. It had only been from years of hard work trying to imagine what it would be like in other people's shoes that Harry had managed to work out possible reasons. But it was a lot of work, required getting to know someone very well, and only had about a 75% success rate at best. It seemed to come naturally to other people; Harry, though, had to work hard at it, like he was compensating for a missing limb. But actually, it was like a missing part of his brain. It felt like... like he imagined it must feel to be blind, and trying to figure out what the world looked like to those who could see. Which was an easy metaphor to think of, for him; without his glasses, he was legally blind. He could make out rough shapes, and kind of work out enough details to recognize people before they spoke, but he couldn't read at all without them, and he shuddered to imagine himself driving or flying without them.

So yes, part of him wanted Black to be innocent somehow. Yet another part of Harry was convinced that Black must be guilty. Everyone seemed convinced that Black had been their secret-keeper, and if Black had gone to prison – without a trial, even – he presumed Dumbledore knew enough about the Fideleus Charm to say Black was guilty. There didn't seem to be any way Black was innocent, even if Mr. Malfoy didn't think Black had been a Death Eater. But Voldemort liked keeping secrets; it was possible Black had been Voldemort's secret weapon, something he kept even from his most trusted lieutenants, just in case one of them was spying on him for the opposition. After all, Regulus Black had turned against Voldemort, so they said. So it made sense Voldemort might be cautious in case of betrayal.

And of course, why break out after 12 years in prison? That was an important question. The answer to that question felt key, like it could tip the scales in Harry's head, make one outcome more likely than the other, transmute his doubt into certainty, one way or another.

Realizing he was thinking about Black after all, he was annoyed at himself, and started instead to focus on getting to sleep. He tried to think of nothing, to blank out his mind. Finding that too difficult, he switched to thinking about geometric shapes; circles, squares, polyhedrons, triangles, stars, and so on. He let the shapes swim in his mind's eye. They began to blend with the colors and patterns he saw when his eyes were closed in a dark room for long enough, until he was no longer thinking of them, but still seeing them.

Finally, he got to sleep.

 

Endnote: So I finally fixed the mistake I made where I had Draco claiming Sirius was his mother's brother, it now reads that Sirius is his mother's cousin, as it is in canon.

 


	3. Trouble Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes begin, and already Zacharias Smith, Crabbe, and Goyle are causing trouble; though Smith's involvement is only theoretical so far. Harry is feeding a stray dog, and MAC is bigger than ever.

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

 

**Chapter 3: Trouble Smith**

 

Despite having a hard time getting to sleep the night before, Harry found himself awake much earlier than usual. He tried rolling over to go back to sleep, but he wasn't tired enough for it, so he gave up and started getting ready.

When he got to the Great Hall and found breakfast wasn't ready yet, he headed out the front door to take a walk around the grounds. The air was still warm, the grounds still beautiful. He walked around the lake, smiling at the giant squid's lazy tentacles coming out of the water, breathing in the fresh air.

He was farther from the school than he'd been in that direction before when he spotted movement in the trees. Wary, he got out his wand. But then whatever it was moved into the open. He thought it might be a large black wolf at first, but as it got closer, he saw it was just a dog. A skinny, sickly-looking dog with filthy fur.

“Aww, poor boy,” he said, getting closer.

The dog turned out to be happy and friendly despite being a stray. It came right up to him and sniffed him. He held out his hand and the dog licked it. He wasn't quite happy with this, but he let it happen. The dog, seeming to sense his mood, stopped and cocked its head at him. He wiped his hand off on his robes, then cleaned them properly with his wand.

“That's okay, boy. You're still a good pup.”

The dog wagged its tail excitedly.

“You must be hungry. You look like skin and bones. You know, when breakfast is ready, I'll bring you something, okay? Hmm... it should be ready soon. You stay here, I'll be back later.”

He scratched the dog behind its ears and took off. The dog lay down and watched him leave, tongue lolling out.

Harry ate as fast as he could without getting sick, squirreling away some bacon for the dog. A few minutes later, he was out there by the dog again. As he approached, it perked up and stood. He tore some of the bacon and tossed the pieces at the dog, which caught them in its mouth and ate them with great joy.

“If you meet me here later, I can bring you stuff from lunch and dinner, too.”

The dog barked softly and wagged its tail.

“You need a name. What should your name be?”

Naturally, the dog did not answer.

“Well I'll think about it. Wouldn’t do to rush these things.”

When all the bacon was gone, Harry sighed and checked his watch.

“I'd better get back. I have to get to class. I have Arithmancy first, and I still have to go get my things from Griffindor tower. See you at lunchtime, okay boy?”

The dog said “Whuff!” and appeared to smile, its tongue hanging out.

Harry left. After a minute, he turned around and saw that the dog was gone. He hoped it would be there later.

 

~

 

“Where were you?” Hermione asked him as he brought his bookbag with him to sit next to her.

“I woke up early, took a walk. Met a dog out by the lake, over by the wooded area. He was unhealthily thin, so I came back here, then took him some bacon.”

“Hey, Potter!” shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! _Woooooooo_!”

Harry ignored her just long enough to show he was ignoring her, then turned toward the Ravenclaw table to look for Luna. She spotted him and waved. He waved back, then he looked over at Hermione, who was examining her schedule.

“Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she said happily.

“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look — they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough _time._ ”

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And” — Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving — “ _look_ — underneath that, Arithmancy, _nine o’clock._ I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s _that_ good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

“Well, then —”

“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.

“But —”

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“You have Arithmancy? So do I.”

“Oh really, Harry? Doesn't it sound amazing?”

“It sounds interesting,” he conceded.

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

“All righ’?” he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready. … Hope it’s okay. … Me, a teacher … hones’ly. …”

He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.

The hall was starting to empty as people headed off toward their first lesson. Ron checked his course schedule.

“We’d better go, Hermione. Look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there.”

Hermione suddenly looked between Ron and Harry, looking worried.

“Er, yes. Okay, Ron. See you later, Harry.”

He watched them leave. A few minutes later, he got up to go to Arithmancy. It was a lot closer than Divination, and he felt glad that he was taking this instead.

The door was already open, so he went in and sat down. Others filed in over the minutes. Then, to his utter astonishment, Hermione walked in, looking nervously at Harry. She sat next to him.

“I thought you had Divination.”

“Don't worry about it. Like I told Ron, I've got it taken care of with McGonagall.”

Harry nodded, saying nothing. But in his mind, he was already putting things together. Magic could do a lot of things; could it copy a human being and have them rejoin later? Or maybe they had some kind of time machine? No, on second thought, that last was absurd. If they had time machines, they could just go back and stop Voldemort before he'd gotten started. But clearly there was some kind of magic going on here. He would have to check with Ron later to see if she'd been in Divination with him.

The teacher came in at last. She had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a severe look to her, a little like Professor McGonagall.

“Good morning class, I am Professor Vector, your Arithmancy professor. Put your wands away, this class does not use much wandwork.”

They put their wands away. When that was done, she spoke again.

“For those of you who aren't sure what it is, Arithmancy is the use of numbers and maths to predict the future. Some of this is straight-forward enough, something even Muggles can do, things like using maths to predict the trajectories of flying or thrown objects and that sort. Others are more esoteric, which is a fancy way of saying 'magical.' There is much we can divine about the present and the future using maths.

“A question I often hear is 'how is this different from Divination class?' Well the main difference is that Divination class is really only useful for those who are Seers. Nobody else is going to get much out of it, so it really should be an N.E.W.T. or higher level class, or reserved for those who have the Sight. Whereas with Arithmancy, all you need is a knowledge of maths and how to apply them to making predictions. It is very scientific, very academic and logical, whereas Divination is more intuitive.

“Aside from the obvious applications, Arithmancy is also often used to predict or determine the effects of certain spells, charms, and other magic, especially how these magics interact with one another, and thus is very useful for magical artificers in their work of coming up with magical objects such as Pensieves, Secrecy Sensors, or Sneakoscopes. Arithmancy can also be used in repairing such items, by helping determine what is wrong with the item. Furthermore, it can also be applied to Healing, in determining the effects of mixed hexes or other spells upon the human body, or to potion making, for similar reasons. Thus, as you can see, it is a very useful subject for many magical careers later in life.

“A lot of it will be far beyond O.W.L. level, but that will come later. For the first few weeks, we will be taking a series of quizzes to see how much maths you already know, so we know where to begin to get everyone up to the same level. Do not worry that you haven't studied, these will not be graded. They are simply to determine how much you know. We shall start our first one after roll call. Then, when all the quizzes are done, we shall work on getting everyone up to the same level, so we can then move on to more complicated maths.”

Professor Vector did the roll call very quickly, barely pausing at Harry's name. When that was done, she pulled a large sheath of parchments from her bag and passed out the quizzes.

The quiz started out easy and got more difficult, but Harry still finished so quickly that the only person to finish before him was Hermione. When she saw they were done, Professor Vector came over and collected their quizzes, handing them another to do. By the end of class, Harry and Hermione had both gotten through four quizzes, most other people getting through only two. Harry left class feeling drained but pleased with himself. He knew he hadn't done very well on the last quiz before time had been up, but just the fact that he'd gotten to it was impressive enough.

When he remembered that Transfiguration was next, he groaned aloud. Two difficult classes in a row! Mondays were going to be horrible. Well, at least there was Care of Magical Creatures after lunch.

He had been intending to go to Transfiguration with Hermione, but when he looked around, she was nowhere to be seen. He popped his head back into the classroom to see if she was in there still, but she wasn't. So he shrugged at the minor mystery, and went on to class without her.

She showed up with Ron, the two of them getting in just barely on time. He found this odd, but said nothing, just filed it away with the other weird things about Hermione this year. Then he noticed that Ron was looking worried. He didn't get a chance to ask after him, though, because class was starting. But he noticed other people were looking worried, too. Many of them were looking at him and Ron like they knew the two of them had just been told their best friends were terminally ill. It made it very hard for him to concentrate on what McGonagall was saying about Animagi (wizards that could turn into animals). And he wasn't the only one. Even Hermione looked worried. Ron must have told her something when they'd met up on the way to class.

He was so distracted by their weird looks that he wasn’t even watching when she transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.

“Really, what has got into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint _pop,_ and staring around at them all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

Everybody’s heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

“Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and —”

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stared at her. Especially Harry, who was confused. Unless she hadn't meant to include herself in that, it seemed like she really was finding a way to be in two places at once.

“Er,” Hermione said. “Ron. And Harry.”

“Me? But I'm not even in that class.”

Professor McGonagall seemed surprised, too.

“ _Two_ students this time? She's outdoing herself this year. But you should know, Potter, Weasley, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues —”

Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney —”

She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.”

Hermione laughed. So did Harry. Ron still looked worried, though. Lavender whispered something about Neville's cup, a reference Harry had obviously missed, but seemed to be significant.

When the Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch.

“Ron, cheer up,” said Hermione, pushing a dish of stew toward him. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said.”

Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn’t start.

“Harry,” he said, in a low, serious voice, “you didn't say what color that dog was, earlier.”

“Well yeah, it was a large black dog. But it was just a stray. It was friendly. And nothing has happened to me yet.”

Ron let his fork fall with a clatter.

“Like Harry said, it's just a stray.”

“Hermione, if Harry’s seen a Grim, that’s — that’s bad,” he said. “My — my uncle Bilius saw one and — and he died twenty-four hours later!”

“Coincidence,” said Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Ron, starting to get angry. “Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!”

“Ron, that sounds like the same kind of nonsense that used to be centered around black cats during the Black Death.”

Ron looked confused. “Whadda ya mean?”

“I don't know if it reached the wizarding world, but around the 14th century in Europe, in many countries black cats were thought to be spreading a disease called the Black Plague or Black Death, and they were outlawed and killed. Which just made the spread of the disease worse, because the going theory is that the disease was the Bubonic Plague, which was spread by rats.”

“They outlawed black cats? Why? Were they like Grims to Muggles?”

“Pretty sure Grims exist in Muggle lore, too. I seem to recall a story like that in elementary school. Anyway, cats were outlawed because they thought black cats were witches' familiars. Which, to their thinking, made black cats not cats, but cat-shaped demons.”

“But that's bollocks!”

“Yes it is. But it isn't any more absurd than the thing about Grims. It's just a superstition.”

“Maybe,” Ron conceded. “But that doesn't explain Uncle Billius.”

“He just saw the Grim and died of fright, probably,” said Hermione. “Making the Grim the cause of death, not an omen. And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I’d better kick the bucket then!”

Ron mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag, took out her new Arithmancy book, and propped it open against the juice jug.

“I think Divination seems very woolly,” she said, searching for her page. “A lot of guesswork, if you ask me.”

“But Neville's cup!”

“Oh come on, Ron, it doesn't take a seer to know Neville is clumsy, and goodness knows how much Snape complains about him in the teachers' staff-room. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy!”

“And she did tea-leaves for Harry even though he wasn't there, and she saw a Grim!”

“Harry gets into a lot of dangerous trouble, she probably didn't see a Grim at all. She just figured, logically, that predicting Harry's death was a safe bet.”

“She showed me the Grim, remember?”

“And you thought it looked like a sheep. Seamus thought it looked like a donkey. It's just guesswork.”

“Professor Trelawney said you didn’t have the right aura! You just don’t like being bad at something for a change!”

He had touched a nerve. Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrot flew everywhere.

“If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I’m not sure I’ll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!”

She snatched up her bag and stalked away.

Ron frowned after her.

“What’s she talking about?” he said to Harry. “She can’t have been to an Arithmancy class yet. It's at the same time as Divination!”

“She was, though. She had it with me.”

“She did? Well maybe you can tell me how she's doing it, then.”

“I wish I could. It's a mystery to me, too. And whatever it is must not be common knowledge if you don't know, either. Or at least, not common knowledge for people our age.”

“If she was with you, why didn't she come to Transfiguration with you? Isn't the Arithmancy classroom closer to Transfiguration?”

“It is. But she disappeared when I wasn't looking. When I saw her with you, I assumed she had met up with you.”

“She and I went straight from Divination to Transfiguration, though.”

“There's still the fact she had two different classes, on different ends of the castle, in the same hour. Maybe she's got a clone?”

“Clone? What's a clone?”

“A copy of herself. Maybe McGonagall knows a spell that can copy a person, and then merge them back together again later. And maybe she taught it to Hermione.”

Ron snorted. “If anyone could master a spell like that, it'd be you or Hermione.”

“Anyway,” Harry said, gathering up the table scraps he'd collected for the stray dog. “I'm off to feed that dog.”

“I dunno, Harry. An ordinary dog getting into Hogwarts on its own?”

“It probably went through the Forbidden Forest or something. Or it could be a magical dog; Hogsmeade is an all-wizarding village, it might've gotten lost from there. Or abandoned. Anyway, catch you later.”

Before leaving the Great Hall, Harry checked for Luna. She was busy eating. He popped over and sat down next to her.

“Can't stay long, I found a stray dog today that's skin and bones, the poor thing.”

“Oooh, that's sad. Glad to hear you're helping it. Here, I'll help collect scraps for it, too.”

He stayed with her while she ate a little faster, setting bits of her meal into a napkin for the dog. When she was done, they left together.

 

*

 

The dog had been in the same place when they went looking, and it gobbled up the table scraps greedily, then wagged its tail. Harry spent a few minutes talking with Luna about this and that while he fed and then petted the dog, looking at his watch every now and then. When it finally was time to go to Care of Magical Creatures, he said goodbye to the dog and walked off toward Hagrid's hut with Luna, who split off to go back to the castle. Harry arrived at Hagrid's just in time to see the Slytherins from his year coming toward him. He groaned quietly, but perked up when Draco split away from the group with a sour look on his face and stood over next to Harry.

“Aww, the little blonde blood traitor is hiding behind his littler brown friend.”

“Shut up, Crabbe,” Draco snapped peevishly at him, stepping forward. “I'll take you on anytime. Wizard's duel.”

Crabbe went silent, glaring at Draco. He didn't dare accept the challenge; Draco was much more skilled at dueling than he was, and he knew it.

“That's what I thought,” Draco said, brushing his robes as though they had dust on them.

“'Nuf o' that, you lot,” Hagrid said, coming into view at last, just as Ron and Hermione arrived. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

Harry worried for a moment that they were going into the Forbidden Forest, but instead, Hagrid took them to a paddock around behind his hut. It was empty.

“Everyone gather ’round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it — make sure yeh can see — now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books —”

“How?” Draco said, slipping into his old drawl. At Harry's look, he hastily added, “Professor.”

“What's that?” Hagrid asked.

“I mean, how do we open our books? They attack us when we try.”

He took out his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters,_ which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out too; some, like Harry, had belted their book shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.

“Hasn’ — hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.

The class all shook their heads.

“Yeh’ve got ter _stroke_ ’em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look —”

He took Hermione’s copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

Draco's face turned sour, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mumbling something about Professor Kettleburn, he stroked his own copy. Only when it shuddered and relaxed did he take the rope off. It remained relaxed.

“Oh what a laugh,” Goyle said sarcastically. “Books that attack us unless yeh stroke 'em. Har har.”

“I — I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

“It's okay, Hagrid, they are. You just should have included instructions in the letter,” Harry said.

“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, “so — so yeh’ve got yer books an’ — an’ — now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ’em. Hang on …”

He strode away from them into the forest and out of sight.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, and began talking in whispers. Harry caught the word 'Smith,' but nothing more. He had a suspicion, though, what the context was. He expected them to say something, but if Zacharias Smith was supplying their wit, they had run out of it, and since he wasn't in either of their Houses, he wasn't there to give them ideas.

“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.

Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

“Gee up, there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the hippogriffs’ gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer —”

“Er,” he said quietly to Hagrid. “aren't they a bit, well, advanced for our first ever class?”

Hagrid's face fell a little, and he considered the hippogriffs. “Er, yeh may have a point there, Harry. But well, I wanted something impressive fer yer first class.”

Harry smiled wanly. Of course Hagrid would go for the impressive creatures first.

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ’cause it might be the last thing yeh do.”

Harry looked over at Crabbe and Goyle. Surprisingly, they seemed to be getting ideas. He could almost hear the grinding of gears and the smoke of burning oil from here.

“Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ’cause those talons hurt.

“Right — who wants ter go first?”

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione had misgivings. The hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn’t seem to like being tethered like this.

Harry turned to look at Draco. Draco snorted at him, saying without words 'You must be joking.'

“No one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look.

“I’ll do it,” said Harry.

There was an intake of breath from behind him. Parvati and Lavender said something about Trelawney's predictions. Harry ignored them.

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then — let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously.

“Easy, now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink. … Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much. …”

“Eye contact?” Harry nearly shouted, panic-stricken. “No, no. Forget that, Hagrid. Sorry.” He backed away. He hated making eye contact with humans. He didn't think eye contact with a cruel-looking monster would be any better.

“No?” Hagrid said, sounding dispirited.

“S-sorry,” Harry said. “I don't like eye contact.”

Harry couldn't stand Hagrid looking so disappointed.

“Does it have to be direct eye contact?” Harry asked him. “Can't I look between his eyes or just above?”

Hagrid sighed. “No, Harry. He'll know the diff'rence, Beaky will.

Crabbe and Goyle said something to each other, snickering. Harry had a suspicion why.

“Well alrigh' then, I'll jes pick someone else, if there's no volunteers. Ron, yeh do it.”

“Me?” Ron said, sounding anxious.

“Yes you, Ron,” Hagrid said.

“Well, okay I guess.”

Harry watched as Ron nervously stepped forward, looking into the creature's eyes while also bowing, which looked very difficult. There was a moment where Hagrid thought Buckbeak was going to attack, but then it knelt in an unmistakable bow. Hagrid rewarded it with a dead ferret.

Ron seemed to feel better about this, and reached forward tentatively to pet it. The large animal seemed to enjoy it.

The class applauded, except for Crabbe and Goyle. Even Draco clapped, looking impressed, though somewhat disappointed that it hadn't attacked Ron.

“Righ' then, Ron, I reckon he might let yeh ride 'im now!” Hagrid said, pulling Ron up onto its back and hitting its backside.

Ron looked terrified as he clutched Buckbeak's neck to keep from falling off as it flew around. When Buckbeak landed again, Ron still looked scared, and scrambled to get off.

“Nothing like a broom,” Ron said. “Terrifying, that was. Thought I was gonna fall off.”

“Good work, Ron!” roared Hagrid as everyone except Crabbe, and Goyle cheered. “Okay, who else wants a go?”

Emboldened by Ron’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Ron and Hermione practiced on the chestnut, while Harry watched, his fear of making eye contact with the hippogriffs excusing him.

Crabbe and Goyle took over Buckbeak, looking nervous as Ron had. Crabbe tried three times before giving up. Goyle tried twice, looking annoyed.

“Why you giving me trouble?” Goyle asked Buckbeak. “Just bow, you stupid beast!”

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Goyle let out a strangely high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Goyle, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

“I’m dyin'!” Goyle yelled as the class panicked. “I’m dyin', look at me! It’s killed me!”

Hagrid, reassuring Goyle that he wasn't dying, picked the large boy up as easily as lifting a suitcase and took him back to the castle in a fireman's carry. Meanwhile, the reaction of the class was mixed. Some people, even some of the Slytherins, thought it served Goyle right for insulting the creature. Others were upset and calling for Hagrid to lose his job.

“That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?” said Ron, looking worried. “Trust Goyle to mess things up for him.”

They were among the first to reach the Great Hall at dinnertime, hoping to see Hagrid, but he wasn’t there.

“They _wouldn’t_ fire him, would they?” said Hermione anxiously, not touching her steak-and-kidney pudding.

“They’d better not,” said Ron, who wasn’t eating either.

Harry was watching the Slytherin table. A large group including Crabbe was huddled together, deep in conversation. Harry was sure they were cooking up their own version of how Goyle had been injured. Another group – Harry's friends – were glaring daggers at Crabbe.

At the end of dinner, Harry took more table scraps out to the dog. But since it was getting dark, Ron and Hermione insisted on coming with him. Luna followed along too, with her own contribution.

“So this is the dog, is it? You're right, Harry,” Ron said, “he really doesn't look like he's doing very well.”

“We shouldn't be out here after dark, Harry. What if Sirius Black comes looking for you?”

It may have been his imagination, but the dog looked sad at these words. Maybe it was just wondering what the hold-up was, re: food. Harry fed it, and it looked happier.

“Well if I run into Sirius Black, I'll get my wand out and be ready in case he attacks, but I'll ask him for his side of the story, and I'll listen. Oh look at that, he's loving the food. You like pork chop fat, do you boy?”

The dog's spirits were much higher than they'd been all day. If not for his matted fur and his skeletally thin appearance, he would almost be a normal, happy dog.

“I should ask Madam Pomfrey if I can get, like, some kind of potion for you, boy. You're probably malnourished.”

“He seems fond of my green beans,” Luna said.

“I hope nothing we feed him makes him sick.”

“Why would it make him sick?” Ron asked.

“Well aside from the fact that dogs can't have things like chocolate, I read somewhere that people and animals that are starving can get sick if they eat too much at once. I think it was called Refeeding Syndrome, and it can be deadly.”

Hermione nodded absently. She was looking off in the direction of Hagrid's hut. “There's a light on in Hagrid's window,” she said. “We should see how he's doing.”

“Yeah, I think it's still early enough. We should see if he's okay. Sorry boy, that's all of it. I'll bring you more tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Whuff!” said the dog.

He waved goodbye to the dog, and led his friends over to Hagrid's hut. When they reached it, they knocked, and a voice growled, “C’min.”

Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid’s lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting them into focus.

“ ’Spect it’s a record,” he said thickly, when he recognized them. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who lasted on’y a day before.”

“You haven’t been fired, Hagrid!” gasped Hermione.

“Not yet,” said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. “But ’s only a matter o’ time, i’n’t it, after Goyle.”

The next few minutes passed with the three of them trying to convince Hagrid that it wasn't his fault, that Goyle was to blame, and that Goyle was lying when he said it still hurt. Harry felt sure that Smith had given Goyle that idea.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hagrid,” said Hermione firmly. She took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it.

“Ar, maybe she’s right,” said Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both staggered away, rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed Hermione unsteadily outside. They heard a loud splash.

“What’s he done?” said Harry nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.

“Stuck his head in the water barrel,” said Hermione, putting the tankard away.

Hagrid came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.

“Tha’s better,” he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them all. “Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an’ see me, I really —”

Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he’d only just realized he was there.

“WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?” he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN’ YOU THREE! LETTIN’ HIM!”

Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door.

“That was quite loud,” Luna commented. Hagrid ignored her.

“C’mon!” Hagrid said angrily. “I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school, an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!”

 _Guess I'm not going to get to feed that dog after dinner from now on,_ Harry thought miserably as Hagrid frog-marched them back up to the school.

 

*

 

The next morning, Harry fed the dog again. Luna, though she ate alone at breakfast, came out to help feed the dog, too.

“He needs a name,” Harry said.

Luna considered that. “How about Adalbert?”

“Adalbert?” Harry asked her.

“It means 'noble or intelligent.'”

The dog whined.

“He doesn't like Adalbert.”

“Hmm... Casnar? It means 'legendary nobleman.'”

Again, the dog whined.

“Strike two,” Harry said with a smile.

“Xanthus?” Luna suggested.

“What's that mean?”

“It means 'yellow, blonde.'”

Harry laughed. “He's black! No white or yellow on him at all.”

She shrugged. “I like the color yellow.”

“Well I can tell he doesn't like that either. You know what? I think I'll go for simple and call him Shadow.”

The dog woofed happily.

“Ah, he likes it. Shadow he is, then.”

They talked and petted Shadow for a few more minutes before heading back to the castle to go to class. He wondered, as he went to class, which class Luna had.

 

*

 

Goyle didn't come back to classes until Thursday, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He lumbered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling.

“How is it, Goyle?” simpered Pansy Parkinson. “Does it hurt much?”

“Yeah,” said Goyle, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him wink at Crabbe when Pansy had looked away.

“Settle down, settle down,” said Professor Snape idly.

Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn’t have said “settle down” if _they’d_ walked in late, he’d have given them detention.

Because of his poor position in Slytherin, and an unpopularity in his own year, Draco had sat down next to Ron and Harry. Which turned out to be lucky, because Goyle glared at Draco like he'd taken the large boy's seat.

“Great lump probably wants someone to do his work for him,” Draco said. “Partnering with him is a nightmare, honestly. Crabbe and Goyle have the collective intelligence of a slug.”

Harry couldn't help notice that there was a note of sadness in his voice as he spoke.

“You miss their friendship, don't you?”

“Yeah. They're not big on talking, but they listen well. They didn't understand half or more of what I told them, but they still listened.”

“Well I hear you're getting new friends, though.”

“Yes, I am. Still...”

Snape glared at them, and looked at Draco with what looked like disappointment.

“Potter,” Snape snapped. “Five points from Griffindor for disrupting class. Keep quiet and focus on your work.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry answered.

Goyle had taken the seat behind them, though, something they only just now realized as Draco tapped them on the shoulders to point it out to them.

“Sir,” Goyle called, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, 'cuz of my arm —”

“Weasley, cut up Goyle's roots for him,” said Snape without looking up.

Ron went brick red.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” he hissed at Goyle.

Goyle glared at Ron. “Do it, Weasel. Or I'll give you a wounded arm to match mine.”

Ron seized his knife, pulled Goyle's roots toward him, and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.

“Professor,” whined Goyle, “Weasley's doin' it wrong on purpose!”

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

“Change roots with Goyle, Weasley.”

“But, sir — !”

Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

“ _Now,_ ” said Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots to Goyle at the other table, then took up the knife again.

“And, sir, I’ll need this shrivelfig skinned,” said Goyle.

“Potter, you can skin Goyle's shrivelfig,” said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry angrily resisted making a comment about kicking Goyle in the shrivelfig, and just went to work as Ron tried to repair his mangled daisy roots.

“How's your big pal?” Goyle asked maliciously.

“You mean Hagrid? Yes, I've seen him. What of it?”

“He's gonna be sacked soon, I figger,” Goyle said.

“I doubt it,” Harry said.

“Keep talking, Goyle, and I'll give you a real injury,” snarled Ron.

“My dad knows Draco's dad, you know. And Mr. Malfoy knows the minister, and the school gov'ners. My dad says Mr. Malfoy is talking with 'em all about my arm, for dad.”

“So that’s why you’re putting it on,” said Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. “To try to get Hagrid fired.”

“Partly, Potter,” said Goyle, “But there's other good things too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.”

“Goyle, you overgrown gorilla,” Draco said to him, before turning back to Harry. “Don't worry, Harry, I'll talk to father for you.”

“Ain't gonna work, Draco,” Goyle said. “He don't listen to you no more.”

Draco grumbled at this, but didn't answer. Which was answer enough.

A few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. Neville regularly went to pieces in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape made things ten times worse. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

“Maybe be a halfway decent teacher?” Harry muttered just loud enough for Ron to hear. Ron fought to suppress his giggles.

Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears.

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, “please, I could help Neville put it right —”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” said Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear.

“Help me!” he moaned to Hermione.

It became a tense class after that, with Hermione furtively helping Neville fix his potion. Personally, Harry wasn't sure it could be done, given how bad it was already. So he was surprised when Snape later gave the potion to Neville's toad, and it shrunk the toad down to a tadpole.

“That's not shrinking, that's de-aging,” Harry muttered.

The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

As they started getting ready to leave, Harry came up with an idea. Next potions class, he'd hopefully have things rearranged so he could partner Neville. Ron could take Draco; they didn't like each other much, but they could be civil to one another. And he and Neville would be nearby anyway, he vowed.

“Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn’t you lie, Hermione? You should’ve said Neville did it all by himself!”

Hermione didn’t answer. Ron looked around.

“Where is she?”

Harry turned too. They were at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass them, heading for the Great Hall and lunch.

“She was right behind us,” said Ron, frowning.

Harry frowned, too. More weirdness from Hermione to add to the list.

“Hey, there she is,” he said, spotting her.

Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

“How did you do that?” said Ron.

“What?” said Hermione, joining them.

“One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again.”

“What?” Hermione looked slightly confused. “Oh — I had to go back for something. Oh no —”

A seam had split on Hermione’s bag. Harry wasn’t surprised; he could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books. Harry took his wand and repaired it for her.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked her.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” said Hermione breathlessly. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?”

“You should get a magically-expanded bookbag.” said Harry. “I think they sell them at the place we get our trunks.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Harry.”

“But —” Ron was turning over the books she had handed him, looking at the covers. “You haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

“Oh yes,” said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag just the same. “I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving,” she added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall.

“D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?” Ron asked Harry.

“Yes. She must have a good reason, though.”

 

*

 

Professor Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”

“Hope this goes better than the pixies last year,” Harry said, referring to their moronic DADA teacher from last year, and the memorable incident when he released wild pixies into the room.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

After a brief exchange with Peeves, who was ruder to Lupin than he usually was to teachers, Lupin showed them a spell that shot the gum up the poltergeist's nose, then led them on to their destination, which turned out to be the teachers' staff-room.

The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville went scarlet. Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers.

Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Most people seemed to feel that this _was_ something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. _This_ one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what _is_ a boggart?”

Hermione put up her hand.

“It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. “So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

“Er, because there's so many of us, it won't know what it should turn into?”

“Exactly! It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.

“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is _laughter._ What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.

“We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please … _riddikulus_!”

“ _Riddikulus_!” said the class together.

“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”

Lupin asked Neville what his worst fear was, and after a false start, they found out it was Professor Snape. A bit more questioning about Neville's grandmother’s clothes, and Harry was starting to get an idea what was going to happen. He was not amused. When the boggart-Snape ended up in a dress, a woman's hat, and a handbag because of the Riddikulus charm, Harry alone did not laugh. He thought of Antigone, and how she would probably be mortified. He didn't know how many people knew her secret, after all. He didn't know who knew she was a trans girl.

After Neville, others took turns. But Harry's greatest fear was the dementors, and he had no idea how to make that funny. One by one they took turns, until finally it was Harry's turn. Lupin, however, moved in front of him, and the boggart became a glowing orb. Harry stared at it; it looked familiar, but he couldn't place it, in the brief time between its appearance and Lupin turning it into a cockroach.

Neville got a second crack at it, and this time he laughed at the boggart, which exploded into a thousand wisps of smoke before disappearing completely.

Lupin gave points to everyone who faced the boggart, and points to Harry and Hermione for answering his questions correctly. Harry, while glad he wasn't going to have to face another dementor, was annoyed that Lupin hadn't given him a chance to face the boggart. Did Lupin think, after the train incident, that he was too weak to face a boggart?

But no one else seemed to have noticed anything.

“Did you see me take that banshee?” shouted Seamus.

“And the hand!” said Dean, waving his own around.

“And Snape in that hat!”

“And my mummy!”

“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” said Lavender thoughtfully.

“That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” said Ron excitedly as they made their way back to the classroom to get their bags.

“He seems like a very good teacher,” said Hermione approvingly. “But I wish I could have had a turn with the boggart —”

“What would it have been for you?” said Ron, sniggering. “A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?”

 

*

 

Later that day, after dinner, Harry went back to Lupin's office and knocked on the man's door, hoping he was in there, since he hadn't been at the staff table. To his luck, the door creaked open and Professor Lupin looked out in astonishment at Harry.

“Harry? Is something wrong?”

“I want to talk with you.”

“Oh. Now?”

“Preferably. But I could come back later.”

“Oh no, now is fine. Come in, come in,” he said, opening the door wider. “I was taking my dinner in here tonight. I didn't feel like putting up with Sev---er, Professor Snape staring at me. Please, sit down.”

Harry sat down in front of Lupin's desk. The man did indeed have a dinner plate, his meal half finished, on his desk.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Well mainly... I, er... I wanted to say that the boggart-Snape wasn't very funny. We have students here that are transgender, and making fun of a man in a dress just strikes me as mean. Because, well... clothes are just clothes, for one. And also, some people might think trans girls are boys in dresses, and that boggart kinda supports that bigoted notion, whether that was the intention or not.”

Lupin blinked. “I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't think of that possibility.”

“Plus, it was kinda mean to Snape. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve a bit of meanness in his direction at times, because he bullies Neville horribly in class, but, well... I can't see this helping at all. Word will get back to him. He'll be worse than ever to Neville.”

Lupin sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “You're right, of course Harry. It was stupid and childish of me. Severus and I... well, we went to school together, and we had a rivalry. I was one of your father's friends.”

“Ah,” Harry said, nodding. “That explains it. I figure Snape had to have known my dad, to hate him so much. At first, I thought he hated me because he was racist, but the way he talks about my dad... you don't talk that way unless you hate someone on a deeply personal level.”

“Yes, that's right. Your father and Professor Snape were enemies in school, and I was one of your father's friends, so I got... involved at times. Hence Professor Snape's hatred of me as well.”

“Okay. Well, just try not to do anything like the boggart-Snape again. It could hurt someone other than Snape.”

“I understand, and I agree to keep my childish ideas to myself from now on,” Lupin said with a grin.

Harry sat there a moment in thought before speaking again. “Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“If you were friends with my dad, you must have been friends with Sirius Black as well.”

Lupin's face turned pale. It was lucky he hadn't been eating or drinking.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well one of my friends is Draco Malfoy. Don't look at me like that, he's not like his father. He was at first, but I won him over. He's unlearning his bigotry. Anyway, he told me that he and his father discussed Black, and that as far as Lucius knew, Sirius wasn't a Death Eater. And Lucius was, apparently, right in Voldemort's inner circle, so if anyone would know, it'd be him, right?”

Lupin was frowning.

“Harry, what are you saying?”

“I'm saying I know all about how Black supposedly was my parents' secret-keeper, how he's said to have betrayed them. But he never had a trial, so he could be innocent.”

“I... Harry... I wanted him to be innocent, too. He was my second-best friend in Hogwarts, after all. But if you know that much, surely you know he murdered Peter Pettigrew, another friend of ours?”

“I know that part of the story, yes. But the only witnesses were Muggles, who don't know about magic. Maybe they didn't see what they thought they saw. Is there any way Peter could have gotten away? Maybe _he_ was the traitor, and set up Black?”

A strange look came over Lupin's face then, sort of thoughtful but also something else. Then he shook his head. He looked like he was about to speak, but then he didn't. He was gaping like a fish out of water for a minute before closing his mouth.

“I... I'd have to think about that for a while, Harry. But... well... Peter wasn't the secret keeper.”

“Hmm... people keep saying that. But the Fidelius Charm sounds like a very complicated charm. If anyone could do it, the war wouldn't have gotten very far last time. Sounds like only someone like Dumbledore or Voldemort could do that charm. So can you really know?”

“Dumbledore gave evidence against Sirius, though. There wasn't a trial, of course, but there was a... some sort of meeting of important Ministry and Wizengamot people, about his case. Nothing official, mind you. But Dumbledore gave evidence that Sirius was your parents' secret-keeper. If anyone would know, it would be him. I think if there was any doubt, he would have mentioned it.”

“Maybe. It's just... weird. From what I know, Sirius was disowned by his family for going against their bigoted ways. And he looked so happy at their wedding. Not like he was plotting murder at all.”

“What does someone plotting murder look like, eh?”

“I don't know. But not like that.”

“Mmm. Well, Harry, there's also the fact that Sirius broke out of prison. Why'd he do that, then? And how, if not with dark magic?”

“I have no idea how. But the why... Draco says the Ministry thinks Black is after me. Wants to snuff me out. And just in case they're right, I'm avoiding the man and being careful. But something doesn't sit right about the whole thing.”

“You have a good heart, Harry. It's commendable to want to give people the benefit of the doubt. But Sirius Black was deranged when they brought him in. The whole street blown apart, and he was laughing like a maniac.”

“Yes... but there's lots of reasons people laugh. Not all of them are because they're amused. All they found of Pettigrew was a finger, and I just find it awfully weird that they stopped looking after that.”

“There was a hole in the street, Harry. And Muggle bodies everywhere. In... in pieces. If we weren't hiding from Muggles, maybe a more complete investigation could have been done, but as it was, most of the pieces of Peter were likely lost in the clean-up process.”

“Yeah, others have said that, too...”

“Anyway, Harry, this discussion is putting me off my dinner. Could we change the subject? Or better yet, talk another time? It's getting late, and you should probably head back to your common room and get a start on your homework.”

Harry sighed. “Okay. Sorry to put you off your food, Professor.”

“It's okay, Harry. My appetite will return. Now run along. It was nice getting to know you, by the way.”

“Can I ask one last thing before I go?”

“I suppose so. I retain the right to refuse to answer, though.”

“Agreed. So my last question was... er... how come I never heard anything from you when I was younger?”

“I would have contacted you at your aunt and uncle's house before, but, well... Dumbledore was keeping your mail held at Gringott's. The whole point of having you there, after all, was the keep you away from your fame. That, and protecting your life from Death Eaters. So nothing was getting through. Including, if I'm correct, an awful lot of fan mail.”

Harry's eyes went wide. “Fan mail?”

“Yes. In fact, I think most of your mail is still being held at Gringott's. Only mail from friends and the school are allowed through.”

“Sounds like I need to look into that.”

“You want to read all that fan mail?”

“No. But people might have sent gifts, too. And something should be done with it instead of just sitting around.”

“You'll have to take that up with Dumbledore, then. By the way, Harry, I have those books I mentioned before. Got them out for you from the library. Where are they? Ah, here they are,” he said, pulling half a dozen books from a shelf. “Here you are, Harry. Books about the old religions and the tradition of Samhain.”

“Wow, thanks! Professor,” he added hastily.

“Not a problem, Harry. Anyway, you should get going now.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Professor,” Harry said, carefully stowing the books under his arms.

“You're welcome, Harry.”

Harry nodded, and left the office.

 

*

 

The next morning at breakfast, Harry went around to the different House tables to talk with members of Muggle Academics Club, and to see if the posters they'd been putting up had been attracting any more members. He soon had a nice long list of members old and new. Along with Ron, Hermione, Draco, Luna, Antigone's lot, and himself, the members included Neville, Ginny, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Dean Thomas, Colin Creevy, several Ravenclaws whose names Harry barely knew, that Willem Stone boy from Slytherin, and another Slytherin girl he didn't know yet from first year, a girl named Qintar Contee. There were also a few other Hufflepuffs like Susan Bones and Ernie McMillain. Harry was quite pleased at the size of the group. The only problem was that they would have to switch to a larger classroom to get everyone inside it. He _had_ contemplated using the Room of Requirement, but he wanted somewhere they could go without him in case he ended up in the hospital again. Plus, he was still keeping that snake from last year in there, and Netty was helping take care of it. Which reminded him that he should find somewhere to set the cobra free, which meant doing some research.

Between different Quidditch practices, classes, and other scheduling conflicts, the first MAC meeting was going to be Sunday after lunch. Not everyone would be able to make it even then, but most of them would be there. He spent most of his free time til then planning out what to do, and working out where they should move to.

On Sunday, they all met at the original classroom, where he explained they were going three doors down the corridor to a classroom three times the size of this one. They left a sign on the door for any stragglers, and then went over to the new classroom.

“Welcome, everyone, to Muggle Academics Club. I've decided this first meeting will start out with us all working out what to do first. I can run some ideas past everyone if need be. But before we do that, we should all go around introducing each other, with names and maybe one fact about ourselves. I'll start. I'm Harry Potter,” he said, as though they didn't already know. “I really like reading about dinosaurs, though I haven't for a couple years, now I think about it.”

From there they went on to Hermione, who told the room that her favorite class was Arithmancy. Ron went next, saying he wanted to know more about atoms. Luna then told everyone her name, and told the room that aside from being the editor of the Quibbler, her father was also a cryptozoologist. She had to define the term for everyone.

Then it was Antigone's turn.

“Antigone Dreyfuss,” she said. “Slytherin, fifth year student. Halfblood and blood traitor. Might have to stop coming to this later, I have O.W.L.'s later on. Anyway, my great-grandparents are from India, and I really like pomegranate ice cream. Angela?”

“Me?” the shy Asian girl asked. “Oh, okay. Angela Whitechapel. Also Slytherin, also fifth year. My mom's family are from Japan, my dad's side are white and British all the way back. I want to train to become an Artificer.”

“Are you in Arithmancy?” Harry asked.

“Yes. It's one of the required courses for becoming an Artificer.”

“Cool. Maybe you can help me with my homework when I get stuck. That is, if Hermione is also stuck.”

Laughter went around the room at that. Then Angela nudged Danzia, whose strawberry-blond head swiveled to look at Angela.

“Ah, me? Okay. Danzia McCullough. Slytherin, 4 th  year. Me and these two goofballs helped Harry, Ron, and Hermione against Quirrell in Harry's first year. But you knew that already, so... new fact... um... I wear reading glasses,” she said, pulling said glasses from a pocket in her robes to show people. “Not a huge fact, I know, but hey.” She shrugged.

Then they went around to Ginny and the other Griffindors, through the Hufflepuffs. Harry was anxious to get to the two Slytherins he didn't know well yet. His patience was eventually rewarded, though.

“Hi everyone,” Willem said. His brown hair was a little long, some of it going over his eyes; in the back, he had his hair in a ponytail. But Harry saw the boy's eyes well enough through the bangs to see that they were bright violet, which he understood to be quite a rare eye color in humans. The second-year boy still had a nice tan from the summer.

“So,” he continued, “I'm Willem Stone. Slytherin, second year. Fun fact about me: The Sorting Hat almost put me in Hufflepuff. Not sure quite why I ended up in Slytherin.” He shrugged, looking confused.

Even Harry picked up on something in Willem's manner of speaking that said 'Probably very gay.' Nobody was rude enough to comment on this, though.

Now, however, was time for the last new MAC member. She was very striking, a black girl with green eyes and red hair; the top of her hair was in cornrows, while the back was in Afro-puffs, which would have looked like pigtails except that her hair was naturally very bushy, like Hermione's. She also had freckles; most of her skin was hickory colored, while her freckles were much lighter, a tawny color.

“Is it my turn? Goody! It's been very hard, waiting so long. I'm Qintar Contee,” she said (her first name said 'kin-tar') in an American accent, “Slytherin first-year. My family moved here from the states recently, cuz my dad got a job here. Nobody in my family has ever been in Hogwarts before! My mom and her parents moved from Namibia to the states. My dad's family doesn't know their heritage, though, because their ancestors were, well... they were slaves. But I looked into it, and though we don't know what part of Africa they came from, my great-great grandparents bought their freedom and moved up to Maine to start a family. I'm Muslim, too, so you might see me doing prayers sometimes because we do them five times a day, plus another on Fridays. Um... and I really like puns.”

Her voice had been breathless and bubbly; she was clearly excited.

“Should I say something related to MAC?” she continued. “Well my dad is a contractor, and I'm really curious how wizards make buildings. Do they do it the same way? Or, well, probably with magic. But there might still be similarities. Though you probably don't build many buildings anymore, since yours are so old. But I dunno, maybe you do... too?” she trailed off, looking down at her feet in sudden embarrassment.

“What does your mom do?” Harry asked her amicably.

“What? Oh, she's a wandmaker.”

“Cool. So Ollivander's gonna have competition, then?”

“Harry,” Ron said, exasperated, “Ollivander already has competition. But he's the best. Er... unless Qintar's mum turns out to be better.”

“If you're a Muslim,” Ernie McMillain asked, “How come you don't have one of those head scarf things?”

“Well, it's because those are optional, and I decided not to wear one.”

“Oh,” Ernie said. “They are? Well. Okay. Live and learn.”

There was a lull in the conversation then, and one of the Ravenclaw girls said Qintar's name.

“Yes?” Qintar asked.

“Oh, I just wanted to say I _adore_ your hair. Tell me, what charm do you use to color it?”

“None. I don't color my hair. This is my natural color.”

“Ah, okay,” said the girl, in a way that sounded very sarcastic even to Harry.

Qintar frowned. “I mean it, I don't color my hair. I was born with this hair color.”

“I believe you, Qintar,” Harry said. “Malcolm X – a famous black American – had light hair and freckles. It's not a very common color combo, I think, but it's natural. The dyes look _much_ different than her hair does. I don't know how many of you were here before for the talk about DNA, but just like red hair and freckles in white people, red hair and freckles occurs in black people, too. There's a lot more color combos among humans than most people think. For instance, most black people have brown or hazel eyes, but Qintar and I both have green eyes. And there are black people with blue eyes. In non-white populations, blue or green eyes is usually a form of albinism that affects only the eyes.

“There's even people in China who have the usual Chinese facial features and skin colors, but have blond hair, and it's an entirely different mutation than blond hair in white people. Which means those Chinese blond people don't have any European heritage at all.”

“What's a mutation?”

“What's DNA?”

Harry smiled. “Okay, so this looks like a good direction to go in. Anyone who's already heard this, please bear with me. Maybe even help me if you can.”

And so the first MAC meeting got underway, as Harry began to explain about cells and molecules and atoms and DNA, and how that relates to coloration and 'race.'

 

*

 

After the meeting, Harry was practically all talked out, but he stuck around to speak with his Slytherin friends. Willem and Qintar not being more than acquaintances at this point slipped out, but he made a mental note to try to get to know them better.

It was a lot of fun getting back into the swing of things with Antigone and the other girls. They talked about Danzia's trip to Oregon, Antigone's trip to Rome, Hermione's trip to France, and Harry and Ron's trip to Egypt.

In the middle of a conversation, Angela let loose a very loud and smelly fart. Everyone hurried to stand up and get away from the smell as Angela – normally shy and quiet – guffawed at them.

When he was done gagging, Ron goggled at Angela. “You _farted_!”

She giggled. “Yes. Sorry.”

“And then you laughed like a lunatic!”

“Yes, I did.”

“But... but you're so _quiet_ usually!”

“This is more what she's like in one of the dorms when we're together,” Antigone said. “She's shy and quiet until she gets to know you really well, then she starts to get louder and stinkier. You should see her part of her dorm, it's a mess. She's a right slob!”

“But you're always so organized and neat looking in public!” Ron said.

Angela shrugged. “I am a woman of many facets.”

“Yeah. And give her half a chance, once she's comfortable with you, and she'll talk your ears off about the things she loves. My little geode,” Antigone said, kissing Angela on the lips.

Ron's eyes got big, and he turned away, his face going beet red. “Oi!”

“Oh Ronald,” Hermione said, slapping his shoulder, “leave them be.”

“I don't care that they're, well... together. I just don't want to see it. And by 'it,' I mean people getting all kissy in front of others. Doesn't matter who it is.”

“Grow up, Ronald.”

Danzia was laughing so hard her eyes were watering. “Yeah, Ronald,” she teased, “get with the 20 th  century.”

Antigone and Angela looked from Ron to one another, then Angela flowed onto Antigone's lap and the two began to snog very heavily. Harry could feel the heat from Ron's face from feet away. Ron was pointedly not looking at them.

Danzia laughed at Ron again. He turned to look at her. “What, aren't you gonna snog someone in front of me, too? Everyone join in the laugh at my expense, why not?”

“Well A. I don't have a partner, and B. I don't have any interest in sex or romance. Cuddling I enjoy. But snogging or more... maybe I could enjoy those, too, but I don't have any interest.”

“None at all?” Ron asked.

“None whatsoever.”

“Don't you, y'know... get crushes on people?”

“Haven't so far, no.”

“Oh. Well... I mean, you're only 14, right?”

“Not til November 3 rd .”

“Still...” Ron said, trailing off.

“I concede that things might change. But most people I know – including my older sister and older brother – were putting up pictures of people they fancied as young as 11. And here I'm almost 14, and I've never seen the appeal. Some people are easy on the eyes, I'll grant that, but I've never wanted to snog anyone before, nor date anyone. But I've definitely been visited by the puberty fairy. You can't see 'em well in these school robes, but I've got a nice pair of boobs growing. And I had my first period on my 11 th  birthday. So for now, I think it's just how I am.”

“But I've seen you flirt with people!”

She shrugged. “So? You think I'm gonna be a total antisocial cold fish or something just because I don't want to snog people? If that was true, little kids would be antisocial cold fish. I'm a people person, friendly. I flirt with them as a way of saying hello. But if anyone takes my flirting seriously, they're barking up the wrong tree.

“Anyway, it's entirely possible I might never get interested in sex or romance. My biological mom is exactly the same way in that regard. She and Papa only had sex cuz she's Daddy's sister and Papa and Daddy wanted a kid. Which, despite not being sexually attracted to anyone, is something she did for them three times.”

“Your mom doesn't want... you know... either, but she still did it?”

“Just because she's got no sexual desire for anyone doesn't mean she can't still have sex for whatever reasons. Hell, who knows? She might even enjoy it; I've never asked. And I like to flick my button on occasion. No idea if she does or not, though, since she doesn't live with us.”

“Eww, too much information! WAY too much information!”

Danzia laughed a great big belly laugh at Ron's discomfort.

“Oooh,” said Luna, wide-eyed and looking thoughtfully at Danzia. “You do that too, Danzia? And here was me thinking I'd found a new body part.”

“Okay, I'm going now. This is too much for me,” Ron said, his whole face red as a tomato.

“It wouldn't hurt us all to do research into sex education,” Harry said. “It's a very neglected area in our education.”

“'It's a very neglected area,'” Danzia quoted Harry. “That's what _she_ said!”

Harry started at her, confused. She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Never mind, Harry. Bad joke.”

Harry looked over at Hermione, and saw – difficult as it was with her skin tone – that she, too, was red with embarrassment. But she wasn't trying to leave.

“Something to add to the growing list of things to research, then,” Harry said, taking out a piece of parchment and making a note of it, as Ron left.

“Hey Harry,” Angela said, from her position on Antigone's lap, “I just realized, where's Draco? I thought he was coming to these?”

Harry frowned in thought. “You're right. I know he was there when I was telling you lot about the meeting. He didn't show up.”

“Do you think he was late?”

“Even if he was, we left a sign.”

“Yeah... and Peeves could easily have removed the sign.”

“Damn,” Harry said, getting up and putting his things together.

“What are you doing?” Danzia asked him. “It's been hours since the meeting began. He might be back in the Slytherin common room, or his dorm. Who knows where he went when he missed the meeting.”

“Or _why_ he missed it,” Hermione added. “Harry, don't you remember him saying he was having problems with Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Oh yeah. Damn,” he cussed again. “Let's go find him.”

It didn't take long. They found Draco in the previous MAC classroom.

“There you are, Potter,” Draco said, slipping into the formal again in his annoyance. “Where were you? Was the meeting canceled?”

“No. It was down the hall. Too many people for this room. Peeves must have removed the sign we left behind. Guess we should've left a person behind instead.”

“Oh. Well that explains it, Harry.” Draco said.

“You've been here this whole time?” Danzia asked.

Draco shrugged. “I waited without doing anything for about half an hour. Then I decided it must have been canceled. But I was already sitting at a desk, I already had my schoolbag with me, and going back to the common room meant avoiding Crabbe and Goyle, so I just stayed here doing homework.”

“Well let me show you to the room the meetings are in now, okay?”

“Okay. Just let me dry this ink out first,” Draco said, using his wand to dry the ink. He put his things away in his bag, put it over his shoulder, and stood up.

“Lead the way, Harry.”

 

Later, in the Griffindor common room, Harry found Ron sitting at a table doing homework. He sat next to his friend and began working on his own homework. Both boys were silent for several minutes before Ron broke the silence.

“I didn't want to say anything about it around them,” Ron said, “in case they got offended, but Danzia has put on some weight. She's still really pretty, just, well... she's filling out, and it's not just because of puberty.”

“So?” asked Harry, who was working on homework.

“Er... nothing, I guess. I dunno. Just something I noticed, is all.”

“It's her business, not anyone else's. But thanks for letting me know; if anyone tries making fun of her for it, I'll hex them.”

“I wasn't--”

“I know you weren't, Ron. Relax.”

“Good. Because I don't care if she's a little on the heavier side. I just... it's new. I mean, she's never exactly been, y'know, real skinny or anything. Just...” he trailed off.

Harry, not knowing what to say either, said nothing at first. Then something occurred to him, and he smiled.

“You're trying to picture her naked, aren't you?”

Ron's face went instantly fire-engine red, and he sputtered, unable to speak.

“I think Danzia would find it amusing. Heck, she might even be willing to give you a show if you ask nicely.”

Ron frowned, and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said 'shut up,' okay? I can't... this conversation...”

Harry patted Ron on the back. “Okay, Ron. I'll go back to my homework.”

“No, that's okay. Let's just change the subject.” Ron cast around in his mind for a topic. “Hey, where was Malfoy today?”

Harry sighed. “Peeves must have stolen the sign we left behind. It wasn't there, but Draco was. He waited for us for a while, then when nobody showed, instead of looking for us, he started doing homework.”

“What, in the classroom?”

“He didn't want to risk running into Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Ah, that explains it.” There was a pause of a few beats, before he continued, “He was still there? We must've been in there for _hours_. In fact,” he checked his watch. “Blimey, it's almost dinner!”

Ron hurried to put his things away. Harry was a little more careful with his own things, but he too put his things back in his room before following Ron to dinner. He realized with a pang of guilt that he hadn't fed the black dog since dinner the night before. He hoped it would still be there. He also knew he might get in trouble going out at night again, so he tucked his invisibility cloak into his robe pocket before leaving for dinner.

Keeping his scraps-gathering secret from the others wasn't easy, but he managed it. He left early, claiming to be going to get something at the library. As soon as the coast was clear, though, he whipped his cloak over his head and headed out the front door to the spot where he always met Shadow.

To his surprise and relief, the big black dog was there, waiting patiently. It couldn't see him, of course, but it began to sniff the air as he approached, plainly smelling the table scraps. Harry pulled the cloak off when he was still several feet away, so he wouldn't startle the dog. When it saw him, it said “Woof!” in a happy tone.

“Sorry I forgot breakfast and lunch today, boy. Hope you're not too hungry.”

“Woof!” Shadow barked, smiling his doggy smile. Then it turned its head up at the moon, then looked to one side of him.

Harry blinked. “Are you trying to tell me that Luna brought you food earlier today?”

“Woof!”

“Wow,” Harry said. He gave the dog a searching look. It stared impassively back, but kept glancing at the food in Harry's pocket. Harry wasn't sure how smart dogs were, so he didn't know if this was was normal for dogs or what. But he figured that even if it wasn't, it might be a magical dog, and magical creatures did tend to be smarter than Muggle animals.

Satisfied with that answer, Harry pulled the table scraps out of his pocket and began feeding Shadow a piece at a time.

When the dog was done eating, it woofed gently again, and jumped up to put its front paws on Harry's shoulders, putting its head on Harry's own, making Harry chuckle. He petted the dog, and it went back to all fours, its tail wagging. It then lowered its head and began to sniff Harry all around, focusing on Harry's other pocket.

“There's nothing for you in there, boy. No, really. No-- okay, fine, I'll show you. It's just my two-way mirror. I use it to communicate with Luna. She's in a different House than me. She's a Ravenclaw, I'm Griffindor.”

The dog climbed up on Harry again, sniffing his chest, then trying to sniff down the front of his robes.

Laughing, Harry pushed the dog gently aside. “What're you looking for? Oh there you go again. Fine, I'll pull that out, too.”

Harry pulled on the chain around his neck, showing Shadow the odd little necklace she'd given him for his birthday.

“It's a gift from Luna. Each stone plays a different tone. Here, this one supposedly chases away Scrabjabbles,” he said, pressing the green gem. Airy, tinkling music came from the necklace.

“And this stone, the purple one, I'll show you.”

Pressing the purple stone, it made a noise like rock grinding against rock. The dog regarded the sound curiously.

“You don't want to hear the red stone, trust me on that. That just leaves the blue one. You probably won't like that one, either. Animals don't like it.”

Harry pressed on the blue stone. The dog just looked curiously at the stone, then at him. Harry let go of the necklace.

“Er... didn't that bother you? It made my owl go nuts when I pressed it. Though I suppose it could be broken. Or... well... I don't think it works on all animals. Scabbers – that's Ron's pet rat – couldn't hear it either.”

Shadow immediately began barking, loudly, over and over again.

“Okay, okay, stop, I'm not supposed to be out here this late, _stop_ please” Harry begged, managing to grab the dog's muzzle and hold it shut.

“Crap,” he said.

Harry had heard something from the castle. He tossed the invisibility cloak over himself and stood behind Shadow. The dog didn't follow Harry with its head, but instead whined, looking over at the front doors of the school, which were wide open. Filch was coming this way.

“Shit. Filch. See you later, Shadow.”

At Harry's words, the dog disappeared into the woods. Harry blinked at this in confusion before heading off towards Hagrid's hut, hoping he could get back inside the castle without running into either Filch or Mrs. Norris. He found himself wishing he knew how to become an Animagus, preferably something with wings, so he could fly back to the school.

If Mrs. Norris was with Filch, Harry couldn't see her anywhere. But she could still be in the building, waiting for someone to sneak in. Filch could've left the door open as a trap for miscreants; it was the sort of thing he would do.

Peeking inside, Harry didn't see Mrs. Norris anywhere. Figuring she must be out in the grass with her master, he made his way through the shortcuts he knew to get as close to the Griffindor common room as he could, looking around one more time before taking off his cloak and hiding it in his robes again. As nonchalantly as possible, he gave The Fat Lady the password and went inside, glad that he'd not gotten caught.

 

 

 

End note: I'm probably going to stop making Slytherin OC's now, after Qintar, except for the occasional minor character like relatives. But I reserve the right to change my mind later. :)

 

End note 2: Reminder that “snogging” is British for “making out; kissing passionately.”

 

End note 3: Yes, Danzia is asexual and aromantic. Also, while we're on the subject, Danzia reminds me of Amythest (from Steven Universe) in some ways, mostly personality-wise. She's also becoming a heavier girl. Taller than Amythest, though, I think. I don't think Amythest's height is established anywhere, really, beyond “She's short.”

 

 

 


	4. Shadows

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

 

**Chapter 4: Shadows**

 

Professor Lupin's classes ended up being the best Defense Against the Dark Arts classes – maybe even the best classes of any topic – ever. Everyone but Crabbe and Goyle and their friends liked Lupin. Every class was about another fascinating dark creature, from Red Caps to Hinkypunks, Kappas and others.

 

As predicted, Snape was worse than ever to Neville in Potions, but Harry mitigated this a little by partnering Neville. Ron and Draco ended up together, and Hermione partnered Seamus Finnigan, which was good because she kept him from blowing up the cauldrons by having him prepare ingredients while she put them in and did all the stirring and so on. Nobody was really happy about the arrangement, especially Ron, but Neville was happier with Harry. Harry's presence deflected some of Snape's wrath, and Harry just sat there and took the abuse. He'd dealt with much worse from the Dursleys, after all. And knowing that Snape's behavior was personal and childish helped him not be so angry.

 

Still, it was hard. He didn't let on much, but he _did_ get angry, and it came out later in other ways and at other targets, but it was safer than letting Snape know how much he was getting to Harry. Though not letting on much had its own dangers; Snape was one of those people who was never really happy with any kind of reaction or lack thereof. Over the years at home, Harry had learned to play Vernon and Petunia almost like fiddles; he'd figured out what to say and do, and when/how to say and do it, in order to manage their feelings and reactions. Snape was a work in progress for Harry. Even after more than two years of classes with the man, Harry was still mostly observing, because the man was harder to read than most people. Harry's experiments in influencing Snape were few and far between at the moment because of it.

 

Arithmancy was a difficult but rewarding class. The teacher was still focusing on getting everyone to the same level. Since most people were far behind Hermione and Harry in maths, Professor Vector let them get a head start on some of the maths she'd be introducing to the others in class later. Aside from giving them something to do that wouldn't bore them, Harry suspected her plan was to have them help the others as tutors when the time came.

 

Dumbledore's Wizard Studies class was only once a week this year, and they didn't often have homework. There was a lot of discussion, mostly. What homework there was, was mostly reading books from the library about various topics. Some of it was wizarding-world literature.

 

Care of Magical Creatures wasn't much fun anymore. After the disaster Goyle had made of Hagrid's first lesson, the depressed large man was focusing on boring animals called flobberworms, which seemed to flourish best when left alone.

 

When Quidditch season started back up, the MAC meetings got smaller, as those who had practice found it harder and harder to come. The Griffindors and Slytherins especially were affected by this, given that theirs was the first match of the year. Harry heard rumors that Oliver Wood, the Griffindor Quidditch captain, was getting especially vehement about winning.

 

Harry was annoyed that he wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade yet, but the part of him that had doubts about the man's guilt was glad he hadn't been caught. Though he also wished the man would leave the country, so the security would be dropped and he could go to Hogsmeade.

 

Shadow the dog had taken to playing with Harry on the weekends. It had started after breakfast one Saturday morning. After eating all Harry's table scraps, the big dog – who was beginning to fill out a little at last – ran into the trees and brought out a stick, urging Harry to play Fetch with him.

 

“Oh fine,” he'd said with a slight grin, and had thrown the stick toward the trees.

 

The dog joyfully bounded off to hunt for the stick. The first few times, it came back quite quickly, ready for more. Around the seventh time, though, it took so long that Harry went deeper into the trees to see where Shadow had got to.

 

He'd found the dog still sniffing around for the stick. Shortly after finding Shadow, the dog saw him and found the stick soon after. He brought it back to Harry, but Harry was too tired to play again. He found a nice convenient rock to sit on, and petted Shadow's head instead. Shadow didn't appear to mind.

 

This began a pattern. Every Saturday or Sunday, depending on when MAC meetings were, Shadow took Harry into this same area. Harry liked the place; being of the old religion, even though he was still reading the books Lupin had given him, the little clear spot surrounded by a roof of tree canopy and the pillars of the tree trunks felt like a spiritual experience. He wondered if this is what it felt like for most people to be in church.

 

Harry liked the clearing so much that he sometimes went there before breakfast. Shadow seemed a little annoyed that there was no food, and that Harry had to leave and come back with food, but the dog was still happy enough.

 

“This is an amazing little place,” Harry said one of these times. “I'm glad you showed me this place, Shadow.”

 

Shadow was curled beside the rock, not asleep but resting. He gave a small “Whuff!” in response. It felt like the dog version of “You're welcome.”

 

Harry had taken his shoes and socks off and was sitting cross-legged on the sitting stone, which let him lean against a tree. He looked up into the canopy of the trees. The light that came through the canopy was grey, but still pleasant. It had been just on the cold side of cool on his way up here, but the trees kept the wind away, so this little spot of theirs was warmer. Harry still made a mental note to bring a cloak next time, or wear a sweater under his robes. The castle itself could get pretty cold too, even with fires and tapestries and warming charms.

 

Harry sighed. “Sorry I can't come here in the evenings anymore. It's this whole Sirius Black thing.”

 

Shadow's head lifted up and he looked curiously at Harry.

 

“Yeah. This guy named Sirius Black broke out of prison, supposedly to kill me. But the man never got a trial, and... well... it would be pointless to explain it to you, since you're just a dog, but something doesn't add up. I think it's possible the man is innocent.”

 

An inquisitive-sounding noise came from the dog, whose ears were perked up. Harry smiled at him.

 

“You're such a good listener. Well okay, why _not_ go on? Okay, so he supposedly betrayed my parents, but the father of a friend of mine... it's complicated, but this friend's father was one of Voldemort's lot—”

 

“GRRRR,” Shadow growled.

 

“Calm down, boy. It's okay. My friend is alright. He was a bit of a bigoted berk at first, but I won him over to my side. He's working on his bigotry, rejecting this whole blood purity thing of his father's. He's gotten into huge rows with his parents about it. I trust him.”

 

The growl vanished as Shadow calmed down, looking curious again. And strangely, Harry thought the dog looked... pensive. Could a dog be pensive?

 

“Anyway, yeah. I'm not gonna go looking for this Sirius Black fellow, but if we run into each other, I'll listen to his side. I'll be wary, of course, but I'll listen.” He sighed. “Oh, why am I telling you this? It doesn't mean anything to you. It _can't_.”

 

He sighed again, closing his eyes. He just sat there, listening to the gentle sounds of nature around him. The breeze through the leaves, the few remaining insects and birds chirruping, and the creak of wood as the tree branches swayed in the breeze. It was very relaxing. So relaxing that he fell asleep where he sat.

 

Something wet on his hand woke him up. He blinked, and saw Shadow looking at him. Harry realized he had fallen asleep on the stone. He looked around and saw it was darker. Checking his watch, he saw it was just past 5.

 

“Well, I'd better get back to the castle, boy. Dinner isn't far away now.”

 

Shadow whined but wagged his tail as Harry scratched his ears.

 

“Don't worry, I'll be back tomorrow with some breakfast for you.”

 

“Woof!”

 

Harry chuckled and waved, heading back to the castle. Shadow seemed very intelligent to Harry; the big dog never followed him once he said he was leaving, like it could understand English.

 

As he walked back, he huddled against the chill air. This made him wonder where Shadow would go during the winter. Which made him wonder if dogs would be allowed as pets in the castle. But he immediately dismissed this idea; Shadow was much too large to fit anywhere in the castle. But he was going to find _somewhere_ for the stray to hide away from the winter cold. Maybe Hagrid knew somewhere. Not Hagrid's hut, of course; the hut was barely large enough for Hagrid and Fang without adding another large dog. But maybe he could build a little dog house for Shadow, cast warming charms on it. Or buy one, since he didn't know how to make one.

 

*

 

The Saturday before Halloween, Harry was going to go to see Shadow again, but on his way out the Great Hall, he ran into Draco, who grabbed his arm and began to pull him away.

 

“Sorry about this, Harry, but Crabbe and Goyle are after me. I just need you with me for a little while.”

 

Harry sighed. “Fine. But you need to figure something out. Get a new dorm room or something. Put up wards around your bed, that sort of thing.”

 

“Already did that. It's getting from the bed to other places that becomes problematic.”

 

“Still...”

 

“Yes, I'm working on it, okay?”

 

“Have you thought of mailing your father? Have him talk to their fathers? You may disagree with them, but that's no excuse for attacking the sole Malfoy heir.”

 

Draco paused, looking thoughtfully at Harry before walking again. “That's a good idea. Can't believe I didn't think of it myself.”

 

 

By the time Harry shook Draco off, he was outside Lupin's office. The door was open.

 

“Harry? Was young Mr. Malfoy bothering you?”

 

“What? Oh. No, Professor. We're friends. He just needed some help avoiding Crabbe and Goyle. Remember, Draco is a friend of mine.”

 

“Oh yes, I'd forgotten you told me you befriended Draco Malfoy. Sorry about that, I'll try to remember from now on.”

 

Harry nodded, about to go so he could meet Shadow again.

 

“Harry, come in a moment will you?”

 

“Oh. Er, okay Professor. Will this take long?”

 

Harry came in and took the same seat he had last time.

 

“No, I don't think it should take long. Unless you have plans I'm interrupting?”

 

“Oh, no. Nothing I can't do later.”

 

“Good, good. Care for some tea?”

 

“That sounds good.”

 

Harry cast around for something to say.

 

“What's that?” Harry asked, referring to a tank full of murky water and a sickly green creature with horns and long fingers.

 

“Grindylow. For our next lesson. Water demon,” said Lupin, surveying the grindylow thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t have much difficulty with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.”

 

The grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner.

 

Lupin tapped his kettle, and the water instantly boiled. He poured some into a cup with a teabag in it for himself and one for Harry.

 

“So, if it's not too forward of me, Harry, what plans did you have that got derailed?”

 

“Oh, I like to go out for a walk among the trees by the lake. The Forbidden Forest may be out of bounds, but that area isn't. I found a nice place to sit and listen to the trees.”

 

“That sounds lovely. That reminds me, how are you liking those books I got you?”

 

“Quite a lot, thank you. I may have to purchase copies of my own.”

 

“Glad to hear it. I'm always glad to help out a fellow member of the old religion.”

 

They sipped their tea.

 

“So what did you want to discuss, Professor?”

 

“I wanted to ask if you were worried at all about Professor Trelawney's predictions of your and Ron's demise.”

 

“You heard about that too, eh?”

 

Lupin grinned. “Yes. Professor McGonagall was complaining about it in the teacher's lounge. So, are you scared?”

 

Harry shook his head. “From what Hermione's told me, she's an old fraud, makes wild guesses.”

 

“That's what many of the other professors tell me as well.”

 

They sipped their tea again, Harry thinking as he did. Lupin had asked him if he was afraid. Did Lupin think he was a coward? After the Dementor, maybe he did.

 

Something of Harry’s thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, “Anything worrying you, Harry?”

 

“No,” Harry lied. He drank a bit of tea and watched the grindylow brandishing a fist at him. “Yes,” he said suddenly, putting his tea down on Lupin’s desk. “You know that day we fought the boggart?

 

“Yes,” said Lupin slowly.

 

“Why didn’t you let me fight it?” said Harry abruptly.

 

Lupin raised his eyebrows.

 

“I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,” he said, sounding surprised.

 

Harry, who had expected Lupin to deny that he’d done any such thing, was taken aback.

 

“Why?” he said again.

 

“Well,” said Lupin, frowning slightly, “I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.”

 

Harry stared. Not only was this the last answer he’d expected, but Lupin had said Voldemort’s name. The only person Harry had ever heard say the name aloud (apart from himself) was Professor Dumbledore.

 

“Clearly, I was wrong,” said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. “But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.”

 

“I didn’t think of Voldemort,” said Harry honestly. “I — I remembered those dementors.”

 

“I see,” said Lupin thoughtfully. “Well, well … I’m impressed.” He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. “That suggests that what you fear most of all is — fear. Very wise, Harry.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he drank some more tea.

 

“So you’ve been thinking that I didn’t believe you capable of fighting the boggart?” said Lupin shrewdly.

 

“Well … yeah,” said Harry. He was suddenly feeling a lot happier. “Professor Lupin, you know the dementors —”

 

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

 

“Come in,” called Lupin.

 

The door opened, and in came Snape, carrying a goblet that was smoking like mad. It looked like a Halloween decoration made of dry ice, only darker.

 

“Ah, Severus,” said Lupin, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?”

 

Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin.

 

“I was just showing Harry my grindylow,” said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank.

 

“Fascinating,” said Snape, without looking at it. “You should drink that directly, Lupin.”

 

“Yes, yes, I will,” said Lupin.

 

“I made an entire cauldronful,” Snape continued. “If you need more.”

 

“I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus.”

 

“Not at all,” said Snape, but there was a look in his eye Harry didn’t like. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful.

 

Harry looked curiously at the goblet. Lupin smiled.

 

“Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me,” he said. “I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex.” He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. “Pity sugar makes it useless,” he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

 

“Why — ?” Harry began. Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question.

 

“I’ve been feeling a bit off-color,” he said. “This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren’t many wizards who are up to making it.”

 

So whatever was ailing Lupin required a specialized potion to help with it. Harry wondered what Lupin had. He didn't seem to be any different from other people, except disheveled and tired a lot.

 

“So you trust him, then?” Harry asked.

 

“Yes, Harry, I do. Dumbledore trusts him, so I do too.”

 

“Well, Dumbledore also trusted the Dursleys, and that didn't turn out so well.”

 

“Er, yes, I suppose so.”

 

Lupin drank the rest of the potion and shuddered. “Disgusting.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but he got cut off.

 

“Well, Harry, I’d better get back to work. I’ll see you at the feast tomorrow.”

 

“Right,” said Harry, putting down his empty teacup.

 

The empty goblet was still smoking.

“One more question, first?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you know a spell to find true north?”

 

 

*

 

On Halloween day, since he couldn't go to Hogsmeade, Harry returned to the clearing with food for Shadow in one pocket, and a candle in the other. The large dog greedily ate up the food, then jumped around excitedly for several minutes. Then it noticed Harry taking his shoes off, keeping his socks and thick cloak on. Shadow watched as Harry sat cross-legged on the sitting stone, setting the candle in front of him in a holder.

 

Sensing the solemnity of what Harry was doing, Shadow lay down and watched him quietly.

 

Harry stood back up. He took out his wand and stood in front of the stone. First, he put his wand in his open palm and said “Point me!” The wand jumped into the air an inch from his hand and swung around to point at north.

 

This information gathered, Harry took the wand in his hand again and moved to stand at the north side of the stone, facing outwards toward north. He then drew a five-pointed star shape in the air with his wand, the star inside a circle. It hung in the air in glowing red lines.

 

“Earth and soil, o elementals of the north, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

 

Walking clockwise from there, his wand tip facing outward and trailing a faint gray line, he stopped at east. He drew another star in the air, this one white, and said, “Wind and air, o elementals of the east, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

 

He walked around to the back of the tree that made the stone's back rest, and faced south. He drew an orange star in the air.

 

“Flame and heat, o elementals of the south, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

 

He went around to face west, drawing a blue star in the air.

 

“Water of the rivers, oceans, lakes, and rain, o elementals of the west, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

 

He completed the circle at north again. He then used his wand to trace out an invisible star over his heart. “Soul and specter, o elementals of the spirit, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen. And now the circle is complete. May nothing intending harm be able to cross the threshold. Amen.”

 

With these words, many things happened all at once: the gray circle became silver and significantly brighter, connecting the four colored stars together. The red star made a pebble appear and fall to the ground. The white star made a brief gust of wind blow outward. Behind the tree, the orange star created a flash of magical fire. And the blue star wet the ground under it.

 

Harry put his wand in its holster again, and sat down on the stone like he usually did. Shadow looked up as he did, apparently noticing that Harry had cast the circle to include him, before laying down again to quietly watch.

 

“Twelve years ago, on this night,” Harry began to say softly, even though it was still daylight, “my parents James Potter and Lilly Evans Potter, were murdered. I have come here in their memory, as their only son, hoping to communicate with them.”

 

Even while he said this, he had to hold back a snort. He knew from the books he'd read that any communication with them was going to be one-way only. There was no way to get messages from the dead, according to the books. And that was fine by him.

 

“So Mom, Dad, if you're out there, I hope you're listening.”

 

He paused, gathering his thoughts.

 

“I don't know you. I only know what you look like because of that Mirror of Erised thing, and the photo album Hagrid gave me. I wish I could have gotten to know you. I wonder what you'd think of me. What you'd think of the Dursleys having 'raised' me. I wonder what you'd make of my Slytherin friends. I'm hungry to know anything I can about you. I don't even know exactly how old you were when you died. But given how old I think Professor Lupin and Snape are, and they were in your year, I'm guessing in your early to mid twenties.”

 

Shadow whimpered very, very softly, as though to give Harry emotional support without disturbing him.

 

“And now there's this man, a friend of yours, who's supposed to have been involved. Everyone – the adults, anyway – are so convinced Sirius Black was responsible for betraying you to Voldemort. I just wish I knew what the truth was. I wish you could appear before me, and tell me the truth. Though I dunno, maybe you don't know the truth either. You got taken by surprise, after all.”

 

Harry began to hug his legs, and leaned his head against his knees, taking his glasses off first and pocketing them.

 

“I just wish I could have known love growing up,” he said, his voice quaking. “Your love. Not the hatred the Dursleys showed m-me.”

 

His last shred of self-control broke, and he began to cry.

 

He'd been crying for a few minutes when he felt Shadow's nose against his leg. He sat up again, still crying. He couldn't tell what the dog's expression was without his glasses, but he wouldn't have been able to see through the tears anyway. He moved the candle to the other side, then put his legs out. Shadow reared up against the stone and lay his head on Harry's lap consolingly.

 

Harry kept crying, secure in the knowledge that most of the students were at Hogsmeade, and stroked Shadow's fur as he did. As he did, he eventually noticed bumps on the dog's skin that felt disturbingly alive.

 

He sniffed. “Feels like I need to get you something against fleas and ticks. And whatever kind of magical bugs you might catch around here, Shadow.”

 

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve and put his glasses back on. The dog was looking at him placidly.

 

They sat there like that for hours, silent, the light of the circle spell still glowing around them. At some point, Harry started to very carefully burn some of the bigger bugs out of Shadow's fur with his wand. But when he noticed the sun getting low in the sky, he checked his watch.

 

“It's not quite time to go yet, boy, but I'd better anyway. I'll need to wash up before the feast. Gotta get up now, okay?”

 

Shadow pulled his head back and put all four feet back on the ground, watching Harry as he got up and went to stand at the blue star in the spell.

 

“Water of the rivers, oceans, lakes, and rain, o elementals of the west, thank you for your help and your protection. Go if you must, stay if you will. Amen.”

 

In backwards order, he dismissed the other elements at each point. The stars dimmed as he dismissed their elements, but remained visible.

 

After dismissing the final element, he kept his wand held out.

 

“The circle is open, but unbroken. Amen. _Finite!_ ” At that spell, the glowing circle and stars blinked out.

 

*

 

After washing up, he went right to the Great Hall for the feast. Among the first to arrive after him were Ron and Hermione, who had bought him loads of sweets from Honeyduke's sweet shop, and talked to him all about Hogsmeade.

 

The feast itself was delicious, too. Best of all, Luna and his friends from Slytherin came over to the Griffindor table halfway through to shoot the breeze while Harry and the others continued to eat. Antigone got into a discussion about Rowena Ravenclaw with Luna, and Danzia was entertaining others at the table by sticking licorice sticks out her mouth like tusks and pretending to be a walrus. Even Draco had come over, though he kept sneaking worried looks behind him to make sure Crabbe and Goyle weren't sneaking up on him, but they were too busy stuffing their faces to care about him.

 

Harry was very full and very happy when he returned to Griffindor tower that night, despite his earlier tears. He fell asleep quickly in the warm bed.

 

*

 

On that week's Friday, they met an unexpected sight during their Defense Against Dark Arts class; Lupin wasn't there, but Snape was. He was filling in, apparently. Harry felt annoyed and angry; it was bad enough they had to put up with this emotionally abusive, childish berk for Potions class without him subbing for his favorite class as well.

 

“Sit down and be quiet,” Snape snapped at the class. “Better. Now, as even the most dunder-headed among you should be able to figure out, Professor Lupin is ill today. Nothing life-threatening, I assure you,” he said as though sorry it wasn't.

 

“So since Lupin is unable to teach today, I have taken his place. I expect your behavior in this class to adhere to the same standards I expect in Potions class, do I make myself clear? Good. Now, I see Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered. So you will turn to page--”

 

“Please, sir, we’ve done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows,” said Hermione quickly, “and we’re just about to start —”

 

“Be quiet,” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.”

 

“He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.

 

“You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you — I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss —”

 

Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn’t covered.

 

“— werewolves,” said Snape.

 

“But, sir,” said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start hinkypunks —”

 

“Miss Granger,” said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” He glanced around again. “ _All_ of you! _Now_!”

 

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books. Harry stared at Hermione in puzzlement; he'd never seen her interrupt a teacher before.

 

Perhaps sensing his gaze, she looked back at him. He mouthed 'What are you doing? Don't antagonize him.' at her. Her response was a shrug.

 

“Can anyone tell me the differences between a werewolf and the true wolf?” Snape asked.

 

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. Harry, not having read the entire textbook, didn't know the answer. Something which must have shown in his face somehow, because Snape rounded on him.

 

“Ah, Mr. Potter. Since you were so knowledgeable in your first Potions class a couple years ago, perhaps you'd care to enlighten us on the differences between a werewolf and a true wolf?”

 

“I... I don't know, sir.”

 

“You don't know? But surely you've had plenty of time to read the textbook, Mr. Potter? You read the Potions textbook before school your first year, after all. Are you getting lazy now that you've gotten used to your fame, Potter?”

 

Harry's cheeks felt hot. “No, sir. I just haven't gotten that far in it yet. I have new classes this year, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.”

 

“Hmm... I see. Well maybe, Potter, if you would spend less time going outside before and after breakfast to take in the fresh air, you'd have more time to read your textbooks.”

 

Harry didn't know what to say. “Er... perhaps. But the, ah... the fresh air wakes me up. I'm groggy all morning otherwise.”

 

This had the benefit of being true, even if it wasn't why he went out anymore, for it had been why he'd started the practice.

 

“I see,” Snape said. “Well, Potter, I suppose after over two years of grading your work in my class, I came to expect better of you. Five points from Griffindor for failing to do your best work in _this_ class.”

 

There was an instant uproar from the rest of the class, but Harry was too stunned to listen to it. It had been Snape's usual mean, nasty tone, but... well... had that been a... a compliment? He replayed the words in his head again. Yes, that was right; Snape had complimented him. Harry reeled a little. It was even stranger to him than the talking boa constrictor had been. It was like facing down an angry cobra and witnessing it bark like a dog and wag its tail. Or like hearing one of the Dursleys say they loved him.

 

When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.

 

“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention.”

 

When he met Hermione at the door, he said, “Detention? Ron got a detention?”

 

“Weren't you paying attention? I spoke out of turn again, and Snape called me a... a know-it-all. Then Ron defended me, and he got a detention for it.”

 

“Snape’s never been like this with any of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did want the job,” Harry said to Hermione. “Why’s he got it in for Lupin? D’you think this is all because of the boggart?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Hermione pensively. “But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon. …”

 

Ron caught up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage.

 

“D’you know what that —” (he called Snape something that made Hermione say “ _Ron_!”) “— is making me do? I’ve got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. _Without magic_!” He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched.

 

*

 

The afternoon of the first Quidditch match of the season, Harry woke up to see that there was a downpour outside. His idea of getting Shadow a doghouse looked to be more important than ever. So he spent some time before breakfast in the library, getting in right as Ms. Pince opened it, and began looking through the books for ones about caring for dogs. While looking through one book, he found a spell for using your wand like an umbrella. With this knowledge, he decided that he might as well visit Shadow again, since not many people would be in the castle anyway. He went after breakfast, putting his new books in his room first.

 

He was taking more food with him for Shadow than usual because of the rain – sausages and some egg this time. He put a spell on his shoes to keep the water from the soggy ground out of them. The big black dog was waiting for him, wagging its tail happily, its mouth open like a smile.

 

He smiled as the dog ate the proffered food with gusto.

 

“I can stay for a few more hours again today. There's a Quidditch match on, but I don't want to see it,” he said as he led Shadow to his favorite stone seat.

 

Shadow cocked his head at Harry and made a little sound that put Harry in mind of the words 'Why not?'

 

“I get scared for my friends high up in the air like that. And the crowd noises overwhelm me and give me headaches.”

 

The dog whined in a sympathetic way and pressed himself up against Harry's leg. Harry smiled again and patted Shadow's head before sitting down cross-legged on his favorite rock to listen to the rain with his eyes closed.

 

Some time later, he wasn't sure how long, he heard the sounds of lots of excited people coming from the direction of the castle. He made a note of it and continued meditating.

 

Not long after that, though, he felt a sudden wave of coldness come over him, that startled his eyes open. He shivered, despite being dressed as warmly as possible in a sweater, sweatpants, robes, a winter cloak, and a woolen hat. Shadow was hiding behind the tree at Harry's back and shivering too, with his ears back and tail tucked between his legs. The dog was clearly terrified.

 

“What is it, boy?”

 

The cold spell passed, but then started up again, making Shadow whimper quietly in fear, and breaking Harry's umbrella spell. Luckily, they were under the trees and didn't get nearly as soaked as they might have. But these odd occurrences made Harry decide to look around. Soon, he saw a figure in the distance. It was clad in black and floated along like a ghost. He knew at once what it had to be. And there were others of its kind, too, he saw. At least a dozen, floating toward the Quidditch pitch.

 

“Crap! Sorry, boy, but my friends are in danger, I have to go help.”

 

He ran off without another word, not even knowing what he could do to help. Maybe he could warn people? He ran soaking wet through the downpour, not bothering with the umbrella spell so he could have his wand ready if he needed it. He had to stop soon, though, and put the Impervious spell on his glasses so he could see where he was going. Once he had them back on, and could see, he took off running again.

 

The cold increased as he got closer to the stadium. He climbed the steps hurriedly, looking for a teacher. But the cold was getting worse, and the sound of the rain was getting quieter and quieter. Harry glanced out toward the pitch, and saw nearly a hundred dementors out there, their hidden faces looking up at the airborne students.

 

It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again. … Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head … a woman …

 

“ _Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry_!”

 

“ _Stand aside, you silly girl_ … _stand aside, now. …_ ”

 

“ _Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead_ —”

 

Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry’s brain. … What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her. … She was going to die. … She was going to be murdered. …

 

“ _Not Harry_! _Please_ … _have mercy_ … _have mercy. …_ ”

 

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more.

 

 

He woke up to lights, and dry warmth. His world was all fuzzy, meaning his glasses were off. But he could see shapes well enough to guess he was in the hospital wing.

 

“What happened?” he asked.

 

The no-nonsense voice of Madam Pomfrey issued forth. “Oh you're awake at last, are you? Sit up then. You had another run-in with dementors and passed out again.”

 

“Oh,” he said, sitting up. His memory was returning. He frowned as Madam Pomfrey put some chocolate in his mouth, but only because he knew he'd witnessed his mother being murdered. How he could have remembered that, he didn't know, but then, magic could do all kinds of weird stuff.

 

“You have visitors,” Madam Pomfrey said. She didn't sound like she approved.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“Several Weasleys, that Granger girl, and several Slytherin students,” she said. “You can't all come in at once, you know. Mr. Potter, who would you like to invite in?”

 

“Which Weasleys and which Slytherins?”

 

“The twins, and your friend Ronald, for the Weasleys. Mr. Draco Malfoy and--”

 

“It's us!” Danzia called in. “Me and my lot of girls.”

 

_Decisions, decisions,_ Harry thought. He put his glasses back on, and noticed they were cracked. Quite how that had happened, he didn't know. He took out his wand and repaired them with a spell.

 

“You may have up to four at once.”

 

“In that case, Ron, Hermione, Antigone, and... um... Draco.”

 

“Draco?” Ron said, disbelieving. “I know you two are pals now, but Draco over Danzia or Angela?”

 

“We don't mind,” Danzia and Angela said in stereo.

 

“Well you four, in you get. The rest of you wait out there.”

 

Ron got in first, followed by Hermione. Draco was next, followed by Antigone.

 

“Anyone know where Luna is?”

 

“She was out here earlier. She said she'd come in after the rest of us were done, if she could,” Antigone said. “She was concerned, of course, but once we found out you were okay, she wandered off, saying she'd be back later.”

 

“Prob'ly wants to give you a get-well kiss,” smirked Ron.

 

“Where were you earlier?” Hermione asked. “You weren't watching the game, as far as any of us could tell. You just showed up, and passed out.”

 

“I was in my special spot, listening to the rain. I was keeping dry until I sensed the dementors and ran to warn people.”

 

“Well mate, you were a bit late for that. Dumbledore had already noticed them. Just after you passed out, he shot something silver at them, and they took off,” said Ron.

 

“I've never seen Dumbledore so _angry_ ,” Hermione said, shuddering. “It was terrifying. No wonder you-know-who's scared of him, if he can look like that.”

 

“What, did he turn into a monster?” Harry asked.

 

“No. Just got extremely grim, and sort of... grew, with power. Not literally, just appeared to get taller and scarier.”

 

“What, like Gandalf?”

 

“Who's--”

 

“Yes, just like Gandalf,” Hermione agreed. “Ron, it's a story from a Muggle book. Gandalf was a wizard in that story.”

 

The conversation continued among them for several more minutes, until Madam Pomfrey urged them out of the hospital wing for Harry to interact with the next group. Then the same thing happened again, until Madam Pomfrey grudgingly let Luna in on her own, the Weasley twins making kissy noises at Harry as they left.

 

“I brought you something, Harry,” she said without preamble, handing him a book. It was about dementors. “I got it from the library.”

 

“Thank you, Luna. Maybe it'll have something in here about how to fight them.”

 

“I brought you something else, too. I had Neville get it for me,” she said, handing him something.

 

He took it and looked at it. It was his two-way mirror, half of the pair that let him talk with Luna when they were both in their respective towers.

 

“Thanks, Luna! This will help a lot.”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

He grinned. This would make the inevitable night spent in the hospital wing more bearable, by letting him talk with Luna.

 

*

 

On Monday, Professor Lupin was back at work. Most people complained about Snape assigning them homework. Lupin told them they didn't have to do it. Harry, who had already done the essay, raised his hand.

 

“Yes, Harry?”

 

“I've already done mine. If we've already done it, can we hand it in for extra credit?”

 

“Yes, Harry. Anyone who did Professor Snape's essay may hand it to me for extra credit.”

 

He and Hermione weren't the only ones to pass theirs up. In fact, roughly half the class had done it.

 

Just before turning his in, Harry wrote something on a margin: “Your boggart... I know what it is. Don't worry.”

 

Lupin froze, reading Harry's note on the essay. He then tapped it with his wand, and bent down next to Harry.

 

“You made a slight mistake here, Harry,” he said, pointing at the note. It now read 'See me after class.'

 

“Ah, so I did,” Harry said, erasing the words with his wand. “Nice catch, Professor.”

 

They spent the rest of the class learning about hinkypunks, little one-legged creatures who looked as though they were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking.

 

“Lures travelers into bogs,” said Professor Lupin as they took notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —”

 

The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.

 

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but of course he had to stay behind. Lupin closed the door behind him, locked it, and put up silencing wards.

 

“Sit down, Harry.”

 

Harry took a seat. He would be worried if not for previous encounters with Lupin, and Lupin's pleasant expression.

 

“Don't want anyone overhearing our conversation,” Lupin explained.

 

“Understandable.”

 

“So, Harry, my boggart. You say you know what it is. So, what is it?”

 

“The full moon. You're a werewolf.”

 

“Correct on both counts. Snape's essay?”

 

“Yes. I figured out you were always ill during the full moon. But it was realizing that your boggart was the moon that let me finally put the pieces together. I assume Dumbledore knows?”

 

“Yes. Everyone on the staff knows.”

 

“How long have you had this illness?”

 

“Since I was a small child. Dumbledore let me come to Hogwarts despite it. You know the Whomping Willow?”

 

“Yes. What of it?”

 

“It was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. I used to go through a secret tunnel to the Shrieking Shack to change. Kept me away from humans, leaving me to have to bite and scratch myself instead of humans.”

 

“That sounds horrible.”

 

“It was. But now I have Professor Snape to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for me. You saw me drinking it once. It's very difficult to make, and I've never been very good at potions. Now, Harry, I must ask you to keep this a secret from the other students. I know, especially with Professor Snape dropping hints, that the secret will come out eventually, and when it does, I'll have to resign. Parents will not want a werewolf teaching their kids, even with me on the Wolfsbane Potion. But I would like to try to make it the whole year before resigning.”

 

“Your secret is safe with me, sir.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Sir? Did you hear about the match, too?”

 

“All those dementors, yes. I heard. Dumbledore was very angry. He was against them being brought here to begin with. If it were up to Dumbledore, they would all be taken away to a starvation colony in Siberia.”

 

“Starvation colony?”

 

“The only way to kill a dementor, that we know of, is to starve them to death. Which means taking them far away from people. Just a handful of wizards live at such places, in order to cast patronuses to keep the dementors from escaping. But they themselves are out of reach of the powers of the dementors.”

 

“Patronuses? What are those?”

 

“The Patronus Charm is the only defense wizards have against dementors. The charm summons a sort of anti-dementor, a projection of all the things dementors feed off, but they cannot feel despair as humans can, so the dementors have no power over them.”

 

“Is that what Dumbledore used against them at the match?”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“And you did it on the train, too, right?”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“Could you teach me that spell? With these dementors about, I don't want to be caught without a defense again. If I were to pass out, they could Kiss me.”

 

“Ah, so you know something about dementors?”

 

“My friend Luna got me a book from the library about them. I read about the Dementor's Kiss. It terrifies me, to think they can suck out souls.”

 

“As well it should. But Harry, I don't claim to be an expert. Far from it.”

 

“Yes, but you know how to do it. Sure, I could go to Dumbledore, but then I'd have to explain everything all over again, and... and the last time I passed out, I heard my mum being murdered.”

 

“Lily?” Lupin said, looking grim. “Okay, Harry. If it means so much to you, I'll do it. But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays, and turning into a werewolf every month takes a lot out of me. Now, run along for now,” he said, unlocking the door.

 

With the promise of anti-dementor lessons, Harry's mood lifted a little. He still went outside to meet Shadow and speak to the dog about his dementor visions and the sadness they brought. Shadow continued to be a really good listener, even if he was starting to occasionally look preoccupied. Harry figured the dog was getting tired of listening, and wanted to play, so whenever he could, he started running around the wooded area, letting the large dog chase him.

 

Because it was getting colder, Harry had started to look into making a dog house for Shadow. Not being great shakes at transfiguration, he found it easier to ask Hagrid for help locating trees to get wood from. Since he didn't want to kill the trees, he picked ones with nice big branches to prune, explaining beforehand his intentions. Hagrid made a point of picking out trees that needed pruning anyway in case ice would hit, explaining that the heavy ice would damage the trees far more than pruning a few branches would.

 

The branches harvested, Harry looked up spells for woodworking, since he didn't have any woodworking tools, and was thus able to shape and treat the wood magically with his wand. Then Hagrid let him have some nails and a hammer to use. It took a lot of work, and occasionally he had to use his wand to remove the nails or repair the wood, but he managed to finish the doghouse a little before two weeks til the end of term. With help from Antigone, he carved runes into the wood and imbued them with the power of warming spells, a spell to keep wild animals away, and some security spells to protect Shadow.

 

He took the completed doghouse out to his rock by levitating it along with his wand. Shadow jumped around excitedly as Harry used a sticking charm to attach the doghouse to a large flat stone he'd discovered a little farther into the wooded area. He had dragged the flat stone closer to his favorite boulder. Even with his wand to help him, dragging that rock had been very difficult. But now it was close enough to see from his boulder, and the warming spells on the outside of the house would keep most of the snow away, so Shadow didn't get buried in the white stuff.

 

Miraculously, he had completed the project and set it in place just in time. The next morning he woke to an opaline white sky and frost all over the muddy ground. He checked on Shadow, and found that he was cozy and warm, still asleep inside the house Harry had built for him.

 

Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn’t fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful.

 

To everyone’s delight except Harry’s, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term.

 

“We can do all our Christmas shopping there!” said Hermione. “Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!”

 

Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind again, Harry got out some catalogs he'd ordered so he could owl-order what presents he hadn't already bought for people. At least he could hang out with Luna, who was only a second-year, while the others went to Hogsmeade.

 

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to Ron and Hermione, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase alone, and headed toward Ravenclaw Tower to look for Luna. Snow had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still and quiet.

 

He was interrupted by a beckoning whisper from the Weasley twins, who beckoned him into a spare classroom beside a statue of a one-eyed witch.

 

“What's up? Why aren't you two off for one last trip to Zonko's?” Harry asked.

 

“Decided you could use an early Christmas present. Er, I mean Yule present. Forgot about that, sorry Harry.”

 

“It's fine. So what's this early Yule present?”

 

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George’s jokes, stared at it.

 

“What’s that supposed to be?”

 

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

 

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

 

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” said George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

 

“You're winding me up.”

 

“You wound us, Harry! When have we ever done you wrong?”

 

“Do you want a list?”

 

“Never mind that. We're serious, for once.”

 

“Yeah, this is no ordinary bit of parchment.”

 

And so Harry listened as they told the tale of finding the parchment in Filch's “confiscated and highly dangerous” cabinet, how Filch probably didn't know how to work it, and so on, without actually saying what it _was_.

 

“Okay, that's all interesting, but what _is_ it?”

 

“Impatient, I see. Well, watch this,” said George.

 

He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._ ”

 

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

 

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail,_ _Padfoot, and_ _Prongs_

 

_Purveyors of_ _Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_

 

_are proud to present_

 

 

THE MARAUDER’S MAP

 

 

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry’s eyes traveled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else.

 

“Secret passages,” he said.

 

“Yes. And these two go into Hogsmeade. Seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four” — he pointed them out — “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about _these._ Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in — completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.”

 

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” sighed George, patting the heading of the map. “We owe them so much.”

 

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of law-breakers,” said Fred solemnly.

 

“Right,” said George briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it —”

 

“— or anyone can read it,” Fred said warningly.

 

“Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

 

“So, young Harry,” said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, “mind you behave yourself.”

 

“See you in Honeydukes,” said George, winking.

 

They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

 

Harry stood there, gazing at the miraculous map. He watched the tiny ink Mrs. Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. If Filch really didn’t know … he wouldn’t have to pass the dementors at all.

 

He briefly thought of something Mr. Weasley had said, 'Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.' But since Griffindors trusted something of that exact description every day – the portrait that guarded the entrance into their dorms – and there were scores of such portraits around, among all sorts of other similar thinking objects, it was pretty rubbish advice. And anyway, Fred and George had been using the thing for ages without it hurting them. And Riddle's diary had definitely felt far more alive than any portrait. This was, in fact, probably far less intelligent than any of the portraits.

 

Harry supposed the twins would have expected him to just shoot off on a whim, but it was cold outside, and he wasn't dressed for going out. So he wiped the map, stowed it in his pocket, and went up to Griffindor tower, where he retrieved his winter cloak and his money. And, since he'd seen a bunch of second-years hanging around, including Colin Creevy, he put his invisibility cloak over himself and used it to sneak away.

 

Just to be extra careful, he waited until somebody left through the portrait hole, following behind her. A first-year, she closed the door on his face, making him have to fight to not cry out. She glared curiously at the portrait. Seeming to decide the joints were stuck, she examined them.

 

“Anybody know a spell to make lubrication?” she called in.

 

As Harry left, he heard a fifth-year call back “Aren't you a bit young for a spell like that?” followed by laughter.

 

“Har har,” the girl said. “For the joints on the portrait, I mean!”

 

Harry didn't hear the rest of it, for he was too busy focusing on making it back to the one-eyed witch without bumping into anybody.

 

When he got there, he quietly activated the map again to make sure nobody was going to catch him at this. Also, he didn't know how to activate the secret exit. But the map, thankfully, could see him through the cloak, and showed him an image of himself tapping the hump and saying 'Dissendium.' So Harry did exactly that. The hump opened up, he checked one last time for Filch or Snape or any of the teachers, and when he saw nobody, he climbed in.

 

Once in, he lit his wand, wiped the map, and went along the passageway. It was long and twisty, and reminded him of a rabbit burrow. It took him ages to get to Hogsmeade, but finally he got to the end of the tunnel, where there was a trapdoor.

 

“ _Hominem revelio,_ ” he said. The spell revealed someone coming toward the trapdoor, so he put the invisibility cloak on in case they came down it.

 

Several minutes passed, and he tried the spell again. Whoever it had been was gone. He couldn’t hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge.

 

He was in a cellar, which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and replaced it — it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell it was there. Still, he decided to put some spells on the inside later to trap anyone other than himself that came down it. He was already compiling a list of such spells as he knew while he crept slowly toward the wooden staircase that led upstairs. Now he could definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and the opening and shutting of a door.

 

Before long, he was up the stairs, still under the invisibility cloak in case someone caught him and asked why he was there. But he escaped, and soon had the cloak off. He had another thought, and looked around for a bathroom. There was a tiny one back there, single-occupancy only. He went in and locked the door.

 

Looking into the mirror, he used his wand to lengthen his fringe and fought to get it to go over his scar. He ended up having to hold it down with a Sticking Charm. But once he managed that feat, he changed his hair color to a light brown.

 

His glasses, though, were going to be a problem. He was still wearing the ugly old glasses his aunt and uncle had grudgingly gotten for him when they realized he wasn't banging into things on purpose. He made a mental note to get new ones. In the meantime, though, he changed their color to a dark blue, and squared off the lenses. He wasn't very confident in this, but if Clark Kent could be Superman with just a pair of glasses and parting his hair different... he shrugged, and put the glasses back on.

 

For one last disguise – and this was a tricky one because he couldn't have his glasses on when he did it, he changed his eyes' color to blue. He examined his handiwork in the mirror, with his glasses on. Yes, he looked different enough. They weren't strong transfigurations, so he'd revert to normal before supper, but that was plenty of time. He left the bathroom fairly confident nobody would recognize him until he spoke.

 

Harry waded through the mass of students, his eyes looking at all the amazing candies. He felt like he was in a Willy Wonka store. He half expected to see Everlasting Gobstoppers there.

 

Harry squeezed himself through a crowd of sixth years and saw a sign hanging in the farthest corner of the shop (UNUSUAL TASTES). Ron, Hermione, Antigone, and Danzia were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind them.

 

“Ugh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect,” Hermione was saying.

 

“Ooh,” Danzia said, taking the jar. “I want to try one.”

 

“You're not a vampire!” Hermione exclaimed.

 

“So? I can't be curious?”

 

“How about these?” said Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione’s nose.

 

“Definitely not,” said Harry.

 

Ron nearly dropped the jar. Danzia burst out laughing at this.

 

“ _Harry_!” squealed Hermione. “What are you doing here? How — how did you — ?”

 

“Wow!” said Ron, looking very impressed, “you’ve learned to Apparate!”

 

“Of course he hasn't,” Antigone said. “Though with Moldy's fixation on him, it wouldn't hurt to learn. You can't apparate in or out of the school unless you're a House Elf.”

 

“So, Troublemaker,” Danzia said, picking out a blood-flavored lollipop for herself and putting the jar back, “how'd you get past the dementors? Flying?”

 

“Didn't go over them, no. Doubt that would work anyway, they can fly. No, I went underneath them.”

 

He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the Marauder’s Map.

 

“How come Fred and George never gave it to _me_!” said Ron, outraged. “I’m their brother!”

 

“You just answered your own question, Ron,” Danzia said with a smirk.

 

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” said Hermione, as though the idea were ludicrous. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”

 

“No, I’m not!” said Harry.

 

“Yeah, why should he?” Danzia asked.

 

“Because of Sirius Black! He used to go to school here, you know. He could know about these passageways.”

 

“Which is why I intend to set some traps so only I can use the passageway into Honeyduke's. Filch knows about a bunch of them, and the only other one goes into the Shrieking Shack. I suppose you've heard that it's haunted?” Harry said. He had a hard time lying effectively, but this wasn't a lie, so it didn't count.

 

Hermione didn't look convinced.

 

“Don't fret, Hermione, I can help him out. I'll give him some runes and stuff he can use. Then we can work on the Hogwarts end of it later.”

 

“Well...”

 

“Plus,” Harry added, “the entrance is really hard to see. Blends in perfectly with the floor. I doubt even the owners know.”

 

“Yeah, and if Black broke in,” Ron said, “they'd hear. They live right over the shop.”

 

“Well okay, but what if Sirius Black comes to Hogsmeade to find Harry?”

 

“The whole town is swarming with dementors,” Danzia pointed out.

 

“And he's disguised. I barely recognize him even knowing it's him,” Antigone said.

 

“Also, there's loads of students here,” Ron said. “He'd get lost in the crowd.”

 

“I bet there's also aurors hanging around town, too,” Danzia added.

 

“Okay, okay,” Hermione said, exasperated. “I give in. But I don't like it.” She bit her lip, still worried.

 

“Are you going to report me?” Harry asked her, grinning.

 

“Oh — of course not — but honestly, Harry —”

 

“Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?” said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel. “And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven — it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick.” Ron stared broodingly into the Acid Pop box. “Reckon Fred’d take a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?”

 

Ron and the others took Harry around the store to look at everything. Among other things, Harry found something in a section for foreign imports. They were balls of some sort of bread with sesame seeds on the outside and a sort of bean curd on the inside. They were both sweet and savory. The owners gave him a free sample, and he liked it, so he bought a couple dozen.

 

Just like on the trolley, Harry ended up getting a bit of many different things. He wanted to get a bit of everything, but the store was so large that he doubted he'd ever be able to carry even one of everything, even if he skipped over the blood-flavored lollipops and other unusual tastes.

 

“Acid pops, honestly. Some of the things people like are weird,” Danzia said as she paid for her blood-flavored lollipop, a bit of cockroach cluster, and a dozen more normal candies.

 

“You're one to talk,” Ron muttered.

 

When they'd all paid for their sweets, the five of them left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside.

 

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

 

“That’s the post office —”

 

“Zonko’s is up there —”

 

“We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —”

 

“Tell you what,” said Ron, his teeth chattering, “shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?”

 

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.

 

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

 

“That’s Madam Rosmerta,” said Ron. “I’ll get the drinks, shall I?” he added, going slightly red. Harry noticed Antigone checking out Madam Rosmerta as well.

 

The rest of them made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

 

“Merry Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard.

 

Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.

 

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked.

 

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

 

“Calm down, _Jacob_ ,” Antigone said to him, smirking. “You'll be fine.”

 

Hermione, apparently less convinced of the power of Harry's disguise, moved a Christmas tree in front of them with her wand.

 

Harry did his best to ignore the teachers and minister. It was hard, though, when their conversation was so loud. They ended up talking about Sirius Black, repeating the story Draco had told him. Hagrid clearly believed in Sirius's guilt, he was very vocally angry about it. There wasn't any new information in it, though, for Harry.

 

When the conversation ended and the teachers began heading back to the castle, he wondered if he should go back. The secret passage was long, and he had spells to cast. Resigned to such a short trip, he said his goodbyes and headed back to the secret passage.

 

 

 

 

 

End note 1: Yes, those of you in the know, Harry's Samhain ritual is a little unusual. I was taking into account the differences between the wizarding world and the Muggle world in this AU. I also took into account that Harry doesn't have any gods or goddesses yet, and might not ever. I haven't decided yet.

 

End note 2: Sorry this took so long. It's been like trying to get blood from a turnip lately with this story. That's on top of my usual depression and scheduled things I have to do.

 

End note 3: I wish I could remember which fanfic I originally read the idea of dementor starvation grounds in. But I've read so many HP fanfics they all kinda blend together. The only other things I remember about it was that Harry took a plane to Albania to study where Voldy had been hiding, and made friends with a young girl while there, then helped the Albanian government take away a dementor to Siberia.

 


	5. Yuletide Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than just presents are surprises in this yuletide story.

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

Note 3: My writing has suffered from my fear of the Trump administration. :( As if I needed more things getting in the way of my writing. But that's why it's been so long between chapters.

 

 

 

**Chapter 5: Yuletide Surprises**

 

Harry woke up the next morning feeling blue. He hadn't gotten an invitation to spend Yule and Christmas with the Weasleys this year because Sirius Black was after him (and had been spotted a few times in the area), so the Burrow wouldn't be safe. Ron and Hermione had decided to stay behind, though. They gave excuses for why, but he knew the real reason was to be with him during the holidays, since he couldn't go to the Burrow. He appreciated it very much.

 

Sighing, he finally dragged himself out of bed and got ready to go down to breakfast. As usual, he squirreled away some spare food for Shadow the stray dog, and went out after breakfast to feed said stray. Since he knew he'd be doing this, he had carried his winter cloak with him to breakfast, shrugging it on before heading outside, with a woolen hat on over his head. He hated the texture of wool, it made him cringe, but it was a warm hat, so he tolerated it.

 

Shadow didn't come out to meet him as usual. Harry found him in the doghouse Harry had made, with its warming charms. He lured the dog out into the cold with sausage and bacon, and while Shadow ate the food, Harry renewed the warming charms. He hadn't yet gotten far enough in Ancient Runes to put any runes on the doghouse, as they were just learning the runes for the first half of the year. Shadow, shivering, went back into the dog house as soon as this was done and went back to sleep. Harry smiled, though he was a little disappointed.

 

Instead of moping, though, he got up and went back toward the castle. He met Ron and Hermione on the way there.

 

“Where're you two off to?” he asked.

 

“Hagrid's hut. We thought maybe you'd gone there.”

 

“Nope. Went off to feed Shadow. But going to Hagrid's sounds like a good idea.”

 

Ron nodded, and the three of them set off to Hagrid's hut, trailing a trench through the thick snow as they did, the only marks on the snow except for the trail from Shadow's doghouse.

 

When they got there, they knocked, but there wasn't any immediate answer. There was, however, an odd noise from within, that sounded like a wounded dog. Concerned, they knocked again, harder.

 

There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

 

“Yeh’ve heard?” he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry’s neck.

 

Harry made a noise like a squirrel being trodden on. Having a man as huge as Hagrid hanging onto you when you were a 13 year old boy who could pass for 11 was not a fun experience, and soon Ron and Hermione were helping Harry out from under the massive man.

 

“Hagrid, what _is_ it?” said Hermione, aghast.

 

Harry spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table.

 

“What’s this, Hagrid?”

 

Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud:

 

_Dear Mr. Hagrid,_

 

_Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident._

 

 

“Well, that’s okay then, Hagrid!” said Ron, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.

 

 _However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Mr. Goyle, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee_ ’ _s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated._

_Yours in fellowship …_

 

 

There followed a list of the school governors.

 

“Oh,” said Ron. “But you said Buckbeak isn’t a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he’ll get off—”

 

“Yeh don’ know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures!” choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “They’ve got it in fer interestin’ creatures!”

 

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Harry, Ron, and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak the hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

 

“I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” choked Hagrid. “All on his own! At Christmas.”

 

They gave one another significant looks. Hagrid had a fixation on monstrous beasts. Though by Hagrid's usual standards, Buckbeak was a kitten.

 

“You’ll have to put up a good strong defense, Hagrid,” said Hermione, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid’s massive forearm. “I’m sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe.”

 

“Won’t make no diff’rence!” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket! Scared o’ him! An’ if I lose the case, Buckbeak —”

 

Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, his face in his arms.

 

“What does Lucius Malfoy have to do with it?” Harry asked, confused.

 

“He's friends with Goyle's father, remember?” Ron said.

 

“Oh yeah. And still evil. So, er... what about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” said Harry.

 

“He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groaned Hagrid. “Got enough on his plate what with keepin’ them dementors outta the castle, an’ Sirius Black lurkin’ around —”

 

They continued to reassure Hagrid that they would do everything they could to help. Ron made everyone some tea as they talked. In the end, they got him to buck up. They began to speak of other things, then, like the boring flobberworms they'd had to do in class lately, which had all died from overfeeding. And, depressing as it was, the conversation turned to Azkaban, since Hagrid had to walk past the dementors to get to Hogsmeade for a drink. Harry briefly considered telling him about the secret passage into Honeydukes, but decided against it. Among other considerations, Hagrid would not have been able to fit through the entrance.

 

They assured Hagrid they would help him with research to defend Buckbeak, and tried to press on. But Hagrid was too depressed to be good at conversation today, so eventually they went back up to the castle and on to the library to do research for Hagrid's case.

 

They did a lot of research for Hagrid the week leading up to Christmas, with time-out on the 21st for Ron and Harry to do the ritual burning of the Yule Log, which Hermione watched on in fascination, her own parents being culturally Christian but not greatly religious. She'd never even heard of paganism still existing before Harry told her about it.

 

Shadow, when Harry visited him, was acting agitated for some reason. Harry would have said the dog was preoccupied, but he wasn't sure dogs could _be_ preoccupied. But then, maybe Shadow was a magical dog; magical animals, be they owls, rats, or cats, tended to be more intelligent than Muggle animals. So for all he knew, the dog _was_ preoccupied about something. He just wished he knew what it was.

 

About the only clue he had was that the dog seemed to get more agitated whenever Harry mentioned Ron. Something about Ron was bothering the dog. With this possibility in mind, Harry brought Ron over to Shadow one day, to see what the dog's reaction would be.

 

As they approached, Shadow appeared on a snowbank and looked curiously at them. When they got closer, he sniffed Ron with what looked like a concerned look in his eyes. He sniffed Ron's pockets the longest, with the most scrutiny, and even pawed at the pockets, but then looked disappointed when he didn't find whatever it was he was looking for.

 

“Oy, what's he sniffing me for?”

 

Harry shrugged. “No idea. Something's been bothering him for a while. Not sure what.”

 

“I don't have any food for you, boy, if that's what you're after,” Ron said.

 

But when Harry offered Shadow some sausage from breakfast, Shadow sniffed it, then took it and ate it with a reluctance that made Harry think the dog was disappointed, and was only settling for the offer.

 

“They didn't have any bacon today, sorry boy,” Harry said.

 

Shadow looked up at him as though to say 'Don't patronize me,' but then shook himself and looked a little more relaxed.

 

 

On the day before Christmas, Harry went out on his own to Shadow again, giving the dog some ham from breakfast. The dog still looked worried, but didn't move around as much, as though thinking. Harry appreciated the calmer energy, and cleared the snow off his favorite stone with his wand so he could sit down and watch Shadow pace back and forth a little. It was odd, but the pacing did make it seem like he was thinking.

 

After a few minutes, Harry got bored. Wondering what Hermione and Ron were doing, he got out the Marauder’s Map. When he said “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Shadow froze in place, his head snapping around and ears perking up. Then the dog came over and looked, goggle-eyed, at the Map.

 

“You like that, boy? Well just remember to look, not touch.”

 

The dog whined in a way Harry had a hard time identifying, and kept looking at the map, as though looking for something specific. Then the dog's gaze froze, looking at the Griffindor tower, and he whuffed several times, poking his nose at it.

 

“Oh yeah, that's my friend Ron. Wait a minute... what??”

 

Harry pulled the Map closer to his own eyes, to get a better look.

 

“Now _that_ has to be a mistake. It says 'Peter Pettigrew.' But he's dead!”

 

Shadow barked at full volume several times.

 

“What's wrong, Shadow?”

 

The dog looked at Harry, then played dead, got back up, and ran off, before coming back, looking at Harry expectantly. Harry just looked confused. Shadow did it again.

 

“Yes, dead. That's what dead means. But dead people don't get back up again.”

 

Shadow did it yet again.

 

“I told you, dead people don't-- wait... unless he's not dead. Could he have faked his death? That would explain the oddity of only one finger and some robes being found. But that's silly. Even if he were alive, why would he fake his death? And he couldn't be here at Hogwarts.”

 

Shadow barked, then got up close to the Map again and pointed, whuffing, at McGonagall in her office.

 

“What? What about Professor McGonagall?”

 

Shadow began, then, to act like a cat. It was confusing Harry even more, even when Shadow would pause this cat behavior to bark and point at McGonagall.

 

And then he got it, and gasped. “Wait, McGonagall is an animagus. What if Pettigrew was one, too? SCABBERS! He's missing a toe! And didn't Ron say he's at least 12 years old? That's an... interesting number, given what happened 12 years ago. And rats don't live that long, normally.”

 

Shadow barked in a way that sounded like agreement.

 

Then Harry shrewdly looked at Shadow. “You know, if I didn't know a very clever cat, I'd almost suspect _you_ were an animagus, too. But that would be a bit unbelievable.”

 

Something about Shadow's body language made Harry suspicious. Then several things clicked into place in his mind. It was impossible, surely? But then, this was the wizarding world. If Peter Pettigrew was an unregistered animagus...

 

“Shadow? If... well, if you _are_ an animagus, you can reveal yourself to me. I think I know who you are, anyway.”

 

Shadow whined and cocked his head.

 

“Yes, I'm sure.”

 

The dog nodded, looked around to make sure they were alone, then, suddenly, was a man. Harry had to work at not flinching, even though he had been kinda expecting this. For right in front of him was Sirius Black, who was kneeling in the snow with his hands in the air. Harry got out his wand and pointed it at the man, more as a just-in-case measure.

 

“I'm sorry for the ruse, Harry,” said a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years, “but it's not safe for me out here. In fact, it's cold enough out here I won't be able to feel the dementors coming. I know somewhere we can talk in private, if you're willing to trust me.”

 

Harry didn't say anything at first. He was still trying to rearrange his thoughts. This morning, he had been talking to his pet dog. Now he was faced with the truth that his pet was actually a man. And as weird as that was, if Harry was right about Pettigrew, Ron was in an extremely creepy situation that made his own look like hilarious hijinks by comparison.

 

Finally, he said, “No, I don't know you enough to trust you. Yes, you could have killed me at any time this year, but still, I don't even know you.”

 

Sirius nodded. “I understand.”

 

“Good. Do you have a wand?”

 

Sirius gave an unhappy bark of laughter. “Of course not. It's still in Azkaban, or wherever it is they put prisoners' wands. I don't need a wand to transform, though.”

 

Harry nodded. “ _Immobulus,_ ” he said, gluing the man to the ground with a spell. “So you can tell me why you're here, explain the situation to me best you can, as quickly as you can, then turn back to a dog.”

 

“Thank you. So, what happened. Well, to start, I _wasn't_ your parents' secret keeper. I was going to be, but then I convinced your parents to switch to their other friend Peter at the last minute. I thought it was a great ruse. Nobody would suspect the weak, talentless Peter. The way the Fidelius Charm works, the secret keepers are chosen by the people who have to be hidden. We didn't even tell Dumbledore, who cast the spell, that we'd switched. The night it happened, I went to check on Peter, but he wasn't where he should have been. I'd had no idea til then that he was a traitor, but there was no sign of a struggle, so I figured it out. I rushed to your parents' house, but it was too late.

 

“Hagrid was there by the time I got there, collecting you from the debris. He told me Dumbledore said you were to go to your aunt and uncle's. I thought even then that was a stupid idea, but I trusted Dumbledore and Hagrid, and I was too beset by grief to object too strenuously. And then I made the _second_ greatest mistake of my life, and went after Pettigrew without even telling Hagrid the truth. I _could_ have; the house and two of its three occupants were dead, so the Fidelius Charm was not working anymore. But like I said, I wasn't thinking straight.

 

“I chased Pettigrew down, thinking to stop him and turn him in, telling Dumbledore the truth. But he called out for everyone to hear that _I_ was the traitor, blasted the street apart, turned into a rat, and ran away. Between Peter outwitting me, the dead bodies and debris everywhere, and the fact I had almost no chance to find him after that, I had a bit of a mental breakdown and started laughing like mad. I think I was still laughing when they threw me in Azkaban.

 

“And then other things happened in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall. Several of his most loyal lieutenants went looking for him, and tortured the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom for information. They went too far, driving the pair of them insane, because of course nobody but Voldemort knew where he was at that time. That drew so much outrage from the community that between that and the rest of the post-Voldemort chaos, they forgot about me, and I never got a trial as a result. I think there was some kind of unofficial hearing where Fudge testified against me, since he was there when I was arrested.

 

“Now, I didn't know any of this at the time, I've only pieced it together since then from newspapers and eavesdropping and other scattered news sources.”

 

“Okay,” said Harry. “I have some questions. But before I ask them, we should go somewhere safer. You said you knew somewhere we could go?”

 

“Yes. But, er... it's daylight out. And there aren't as many students to keep track of. The entrance to the place I had in mind is kind of out in the open. You might want to go back for your father's cloak.”

 

“You know about--- of course you do, you were friends in school. But, er... it's kinda snowy out there, people might spot that.”

 

“Right. But from a window? When all the light is bouncing around? Anyway, I'll be in front of you as Shadow, that'll disguise it somewhat. I'll wait here for you in dog form.”

 

Sirius then turned into a dog again, and sat there waiting.

 

Harry wiped the Map, put it away, and went back up to the castle to fetch his invisibility cloak. He avoided the library, which he knew from looking at the Map before wiping it, was where Ron and Hermione were. Within 20 minutes, he was heading back to Shadow—er, _Sirius_ with the Cloak in his pocket.

 

Shadow was there waiting. He waited for Harry to put the Cloak on, and then led the way. As soon as Harry saw they were heading toward the Whomping Willow, he had half a notion where they were going. Harry watched Shadow weave through the swinging branches and hit a knot, freezing them in place, allowing Harry to climb through the hole in the roots behind Shadow.

 

Once they were in and along the path enough to reasonably not be heard, Harry asked, “Where are we going?”

 

Shadow just whuffed in an annoyed sort of way.

 

“Oh yeah, changing in here might be a little painful. Sorry.”

 

As they went along, Harry's mind was going, processing the strange situation. _You are trusting an escaped prisoner, who was accused of mass murder, and a name on a questionable magical artifact,_ it said.

 

_Yes, but he could have killed me at any time. He could have torn my throat out and it would just seem like an animal attack._

 

His mind didn't have an answer to that one yet. So he knew he was trusting his own understanding of the situation, and not just an escaped prisoner charged with murder.

 

The tunnel began to rise, until it got to the end. Shadow did something, disappearing, and suddenly there was a square of dim light shining down from the ceiling. It was a trapdoor, and led into a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up. He climbed up after Shadow/Sirius and shut the trapdoor behind him, very much aware as he did what Hermione and Ron would say if they knew he was here in what looked like the Shrieking Shack with Black.

 

Black, for his part, remained a dog until Harry was standing and had his wand out. When he turned back to a human, he was again kneeling and had his arms in the air in surrender. Though Harry realized now he only had the man's word that he was unarmed, and wasn't sure how good a wand would do against a 30-some year old Animagus. He stood back a bit from Black just in case.

 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he cast at the man just in case. Black was pushed back a bit, but managed to keep from falling over.

 

“Good thinking, Harry. Can't be too careful. I don't suppose you've learned the Summoning Charm yet?”

 

“Not yet. I _am_ ahead of my year in a lot of things, but I haven't learned that one yet.”

 

“Ah. Well I'd tell you how to do it, but it might take even you a day or two to actually figure out how to cast it. But I assure you I don't have a wand. Where would I get one? They don't let prisoners have wands.”

 

“True. I believe you on that. Doesn't mean you couldn't have stolen one somehow. Anyway, I have some questions, as I said.”

 

“I'll try my best to answer them.”

 

“How did you escape Azkaban? For that matter, how did you keep your powers in Azkaban, after 12 years?”

 

“I'm not sure. But I think it's because I knew I was innocent. I stayed there because I felt I deserved it for convincing James and Lily to switch secret keepers to Peter, but that didn't change the fact I knew I was innocent. It wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't take it from me. So when things got to be too much, I would transform into a dog in my cell. Dementors are blind, sensing people by their emotions, and animal emotions are hard for them to sense.”

 

“How did you know where Peter Pettigrew was?”

 

“Only by luck. It can get boring in Azkaban if you're able to keep your mind like I did, so one day I asked Fudge for the paper when he was inspecting the place. I told him I wanted to do the crossword, but really I wanted news of you, since you're my godson and all that's left of my best friend and his wife. That's when I spotted... well, if you'll let me pull it out of my robes, it's a newspaper clipping, I assure you.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Black cautiously pulled out a newspaper clipping from his robes and showed it to Harry. It was a picture of himself and the Weasleys in front of a backdrop that looked like sand, from just before their trip to Egypt.

 

“Ah... Fudge said you were saying, 'He's at Hogwarts.' You recognized Pettigrew?”

 

“Yes, I did. And from what else it said, I knew he was in a position to hurt you if any hint of Voldemort rising again reached his ears. He's a coward. He ran not from me, but from the other Death Eaters who thought he was the reason Voldemort fell. But if Voldemort rises again and Peter takes you to Voldemort, who would dare say he betrayed the Death Eaters? So I was worried for you, with that traitor so close to you.”

 

“Makes sense. Now the biggest question: why are you and he unregistered Animagi?”

 

“It was because of a friend of ours in school, named Remus Lupin---”

 

“You know Professor Lupin?”

 

“Professor?” Black barked with laughter. “So Moony got a job as a teacher? Figures Dumbledore would let him. Not sure how he convinced the others, though.”

 

“Moony? Wait! Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?”

 

“Yes, we were the Marauders in our school days. We made that Map you were looking at earlier. Which is why I perked up when I heard you say the phrase that turns it on. We were rather clever in school. That Map took a lot of work; arithmancy, ancient runes, charms, even a potion or two. Took us longer than working out how to become Animagi.”

 

“And why did you and Pettigrew become--- wait, did you say you became an Animagus _in school_?”

 

“Yes. Took us most of three years to work it out, but we did. It was very dangerous and irresponsible of us to do, but we were young and full of ourselves at our cleverness. And we did it because we very quickly figured out that one of our best friends, Remus Lupin, was a... now, I don't want you to panic, but he's, well... a--.”

 

“--werewolf, I know. I figured it out not long after my first class with him.”

 

Sirius laughed again. “Why am I not surprised? You've got brains on both your mom and dad's sides, after all.”

 

“So how did you and Peter becoming Animagi help Lupin?”

 

“Wasn't just him and me. It was James as well. He was Prongs. I'm Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. Naturally, Lupin is Moony. So what's he teaching, anyway?”

 

“Defense Against The Dark Arts. And he's pretty good at it.”

 

“Oh boy. That means he'll be out by the end of the year. That position is cursed.”

 

“Yeah, I've heard that rumor, too.”

 

“Not a rumor. Dumbledore verified it to me and a few others. Voldemort cursed it after being refused the job, back before the war started.”

 

Harry's eyes went wide. “He wanted to teach here?”

 

“Yes. He wanted to use it as a recruiting tool. He might've gotten in if Dippet had been the headmaster still, but Dumbledore was headmaster by then, and saw right through Voldemort.”

 

“Wow... so, getting back on track, you, my dad, and Peter became unregistered Animagi to help Moony somehow? How did that help?”

 

“Well werewolves, when they transform, are driven to bite or scratch humans, to infect them. But animals are immune to the disease. So too are animagi. We could keep him company, which calmed him a lot. And Prongs and I were such big animals we could keep a werewolf in check if he got too rowdy. We did a lot of stupid things back then after that, running around the grounds with Moony along for the ride. He could have escaped and bitten someone, but we were too young and stupid and carried away with our cleverness to care at the time, even after several near misses. Anyway, we got to know the castle and grounds so well we made the Marauder's Map. It never lies, and can see through invisibility cloaks and animagus transformations. If Peter's on the Map, that means he's alive. And he's hiding as your friend Ron's pet Scabbers.”

 

Harry stood thinking, his wand wavering only a little. Then he slapped his face in sudden realization. “Luna's necklace!”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Harry reached under his robes and pulled out the necklace. “There's a button on this necklace Luna Lovegood, a friend of mine, gave me. The button in question drives animals nuts, but it never worked on Scabbers. Humans aren't supposed to be able to hear it either, but I can sort of hear it. It's not very annoying to me, at least not compared to what it does to animals.”

 

“Ah, yes. Even in our animal forms, there are some things animagi can't hear, that animals can. The transformation isn't complete, after all. If it were, we wouldn't be able to turn back, nor to think like humans. Granted, our thoughts _are_ kind of simplified in animal form, but we're still damn clever as animals.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

Sirius nodded.

 

“Anyway,” Harry said. “So everything you've said so far makes sense, but there's the problem of proof; that is, you have none. Sure, you might be telling the truth that this Map was made by you and my dad, and that it never lies. But two other possibilities exist: you could be lying, and using a glitch in the map to give me a plausible excuse to get me in here. Or you really did help make the Map, and you can somehow affect it from a distance to make it lie for your benefit.”

 

“But I don't have a wand, so how would I do that?”

 

“You could be lying about having a wand.”

 

“True. But I'm a very large dog when I'm an Animagus. If I was trying to hurt you, I could have killed you that way.”

 

“Yes. And that's the main reason I've trusted you this much. The other reason being that I've always thought something was off about the story of the crime you were accused of. And your story fills in the missing pieces perfectly.”

 

“I swear to you, on my magic, that I didn't betray your parents. I as good as killed them by convincing them to switch to Peter, but I didn't know he was a traitor. I would have died rather than betray Lily and James. I would have been tortured into insanity rather than betray them.”

 

“Hmm... I know aspies don't have a reputation for being good with body language and emotions, but I lived with emotionally abusive guardians, so I'm pretty good at that stuff.”

 

“What's an aspie?”

 

“It's short for Asperger's Syndrome. It's a mental condition I have. It manifests differently in everyone who has it, but is usually characterized by social impairments, issues with certain sensory inputs, a hard time making and maintaining eye contact with others, a tendency towards honesty---even to a fault, obsessive interests, tendency towards rigid daily rituals, a tendency towards higher than average intelligence (but not necessarily so), and the ability to focus for hours at a time on tasks that others would consider monotonous and dull. There are other possible symptoms, but those are the big ones.”

 

“Oh. That must be something the Muggles worked out. They're a lot better than wizards at that sort of mind-healing stuff.”

 

“Yes, I read about it in the Diagnostic Statistical Manual at the library. Because the Dursleys don't like spending money on me, I don't have an official diagnosis, but I'm pretty confident in my self diagnosis. I'll get it confirmed as soon as I'm able. Though come to think of it, I could probably pay for the psychiatrist time from my Gringott's account.”

 

“Ah, okay. I don't know what else to say to that, for now. So, er... do you have any other questions for me?”

 

“Yes, I do in fact. I take it you escaped to save me from Pettigrew. But what do you intend to do about him, anyway?”

 

“I was thinking I'd capture him and commit the murder I was imprisoned for. His, I mean.”

 

“Well that wouldn't be very smart,” Harry said. “You'd still be on the run if you did. We need to capture him and force him to become human again, if that's even possible.”

 

“I don't know if it is or not, but Moony might know.”

 

“That's another thing; if Lupin knows you're an Animagus, how are you not captured yet?”

 

“I've been wondering the same thing myself. I'm sure you'll have to ask him yourself, but my guess is that he's feeling guilty about violating Dumbledore's trust when we were in school. He was always the goody-two-shoes of the group, though he always made excuses for not turning us in when he should have.”

 

“Okay. But you still have no proof. _We_ have no proof. How should we proceed?”

 

“Well, we have to find a way to get proof. But we need allies for that. Unless you can capture Peter yourself.”

 

“I'm not sure how I'd do that. If he was just a rat, sure. But an Animagus? I'd need help with that.”

 

“Do you have any friends you can trust with this?”

 

“Hmm... I dunno. Ron and Hermione believe your guilt, they'd be harder to convince then me, and horrified I'd trusted you this much. Draco's on my side about being unsure of your guilt, so maybe he could help when he gets back after the holidays.”

 

“Draco? Is that the Malfoy boy?”

 

“Yes. He's on my side now. I think I told you, in fact, when I thought you were just a dog.”

 

“I remember. I don't like you trusting a Malfoy, but you're trusting me, so I'll withhold judgment of the Malfoy boy for now.”

 

“Good,” Harry said absently. “Well I don't have any plans at the moment, but I'll work on something. I have some other Slytherin friends who might believe me, too. But like Draco, they're all at home for the holidays. Something for later, then. In the meantime, I have another question.”

 

“What's that, Harry?”

 

“Have you been getting enough to eat? I can't imagine table scraps is enough for a full-grown man, and you're pretty large as a dog, too.”

 

“Oh, I've been supplementing my diet with rats and rabbits, the occasional snake. I know it's a bit risky, even as a dog, but I'll take the risk of parasites over the certainty of starving.”

 

“Well I can get you some more food easily enough by going to the kitchens and asking for some dog food for my pet dog.”

 

“Ah, well, I can't imagine it tastes very good, but has to be better than raw rats and other animals. But you know, wolves will often eat rats if they can't find larger prey, and they're surprisingly nutritious, at least in wild areas like this. I don't think even I could get hungry enough to eat _city_ rats, though.

 

“By the way, Harry, I've been communicating with a bandy-legged Persian cat lately. He didn't trust me at first, but I've started to get through to him. He lives in Griffindor tower, I think. Might be an ally. He seems clever enough for humans to communicate with him, too.”

 

“You've been communicating with Crookshanks?”

 

“Oh, is that his name? I didn't know. Animal language is mostly body language, at least with cats and dogs. And I'll tell you, it's not easy for a cat and a dog to communicate; cat and dog languages are very different. Wagging a tail, for instance. In dog, that's happiness or excitement, but in cat language, that's the equivalent of 'sod off.'”

 

Harry laughed. “No wonder cats and dogs don't often get along with each other. I can just see it now, a cat watching a dog bounding toward it, the dog's tail saying 'sod off, sod off, sod off' from the cat's point of view. Must be pretty intimidating.”

 

“Yeah, it is. Which is why I was _trying_ to speak Cat to Crookshanks before, but I think he must be part kneazle, because he knew I wasn't a dog from the off. I suspect he saw right through Peter's disguise, too.”

 

“Now that you mention it, Crookshanks _did_ attack Scabbers in the Magical Menagerie, and continues to attack him every chance he gets. And it hadn't occurred to me before, but it now seems obvious to be that cats don't normally fixate on one animal like that. Especially with all the rats that must live in this castle.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“By the way, what's a kneazle?”

 

“Magical creature a bit like a large cat with a lion-like tail. They're very loyal, intelligent, can detect untrustworthy people, and have an excellent sense of direction. But full-blooded kneazles tend to be aggressive, so they've got a triple-X rating from the Ministry when they're full-blooded. You need a special license to keep a full-blooded kneazle, so unless whoever owns Crookshanks has that, he must be at least half house cat.”

 

“Yeah, I think you're right. He's Hermione's cat. And now I think about it, the sneak-o-scope was going off around Scabbers. Ron thought it was broken, because it's a cheap one he got in Egypt, but now I don't think so.”

 

“You sound like you're coming around.”

 

“Well there's still no proof, of course, but it _is_ the most logical explanation. I'll double-check your words on kneazles, and owl the Magical Menagerie about Crookshanks. That'll help ease my mind even more while I try to think of what to do about Scabbers. Anyway, I should be heading back. If you could guide me back to your doghouse so I can make it seem I was in there the whole time, that would be a big help.”

 

“Anything for my godson,” he said, turning back into a dog and heading back into the secret passage.

 

~

 

“Where've you been all morning?” Ron asked indignantly when Harry finally got in for lunch. “We were in the library researching stuff to save Buckbeak, we thought you were gonna join us after you fed Shadow.”

 

“Oh sorry, I was playing with him for a while and lost track of the time.”

 

“Well alright, but you can feed him again later. Help us in the library after lunch.”

 

He nodded, and they ate lunch. He asked them if they'd found anything yet, but they hadn't found a whole lot.

 

“I still reckon we should ask Dumbledore. Hagrid may not want to involve him, but it's worth at least asking him, isn't it?” Harry asked.

 

“Yeah, I guess so. But later. Maybe we can find something in the library first.”

 

 

After lunch, they went together to the library, but Harry was having a hard time concentrating on researching animal attacks for Buckbeak's case, consumed as he was with the whole Sirius Black/Peter Pettigrew conundrum. Despite his words to Sirius, he was certain Sirius was right, because the whole story made too much sense to Harry to think otherwise, but the fact remained that they did still still need proof. The ultimate proof would be forcing Scabbers into his true form, but Harry didn't know how to do that, and it sounded like an N.E.W.T.-level spell at least. Plus, there was the matter of holding him down long enough to cast the spell without putting him in a cage.

 

If Harry had just needed to _kill_ Pettigrew, it would be easy enough. Just take his pet snake out of the Room of Requirement and sic it on the rat; he'd just have to do it when Ron and Hermione were elsewhere in the castle. Those venomous fangs would take care of the little sod quick enough. But he couldn't risk using Cleopatra against Scabbers to capture him, because he wasn't sure Cleo would understand well enough to not bite the rat.

 

He wondered if he could enlist the Weasley twins in this. He momentarily thought it was very odd that they'd never spotted Peter on the Map, but usually there were too many people in Griffindor tower to spot one person in the chaos, and even when there were only a few people here, they might have thought it was a glitch in the Map, or else showing a ghost. Or maybe they didn't even use the Map during the holidays, when they were here?

 

Another possible ally was Lupin, of course. But he wasn't sure how his professor would take the news. Still, if he explained things properly, maybe Lupin wouldn't freak out. The only problem was that the full moon was approaching in a few days, and Lupin always started looking more ill than normal a few days before that. He didn't want to bother the professor during that time of the month.

 

He considered Dumbledore. Dumbledore would understand, and he had the suspicion the man had some way of knowing when he was being lied to, but it was still a daunting prospect, telling the headmaster. He had the power to sack Lupin and call in the minister and Aurors, if he didn't believe the story.

 

After a great deal of thought on the matter, Harry decided to talk with Lupin first, run some hypotheticals past the man. That would give him at least another week to think and plan even more.

 

Just before they gave up researching for the day, Harry asked Madam Pince for a few other books. He asked first about dog food recipes, then for anything about the Fidelius Charm, not caring if anyone knew that he knew about it. He could always say Draco told him about it, as it was the truth; he'd known about the Fidelius Charm since before school started, thanks to Draco's letter.

 

He also asked for books about Animagi, but Madam Pince refused flatly, saying that those books were in the Restricted Section. That made sense to Harry, but disappointed him. He had only wanted to see how likely it was for three Hogwarts students to be able to become Animagi on their own during school. But he didn't push it, since Lupin could confirm or deny the allegation.

 

“Whatcha got there?” Ron asked. “Dog food recipes and a book about the Fidelius Charm?”

 

“First book is for Shadow. He's a big dog, but it didn't occur to me to wonder how a few table scraps were making him gain so much weight, until I witnessed him eating rats. He's risking parasites that way, so I decided to see if I could get the house elves to make some dog food for him. I got the recipe book to see how nutritious the recipes are for dogs.”

 

“And the other book?” Hermione asked shrewdly.

 

“I got curious about what all is involved with the Fidelius Charm. Everyone seems so certain they know how it works, but just from reading the first chapter, I can tell you that it's such a complicated spell that they don't even teach it at N.E.W.T. level. It's the kind of spell only Charms Masters know, and even then only the best of the best. I hate to say it, but I'm not sure even Flitwick is that good.”

 

“What's that matter?”

 

“It matters, Ron, because it means not many people actually know how the spell works, so there may be something in here that contradicts the usual story about my parents' death.”

 

“Oh, that again. Why can't you just drop it?”

 

“I can't drop it for the same reason I couldn't drop the mystery of the philosopher's stone, or the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. It's a mystery to me, doesn't sit right. I mean to say, what kind of spell only leaves one finger and a bit of robes but also blasts the street apart, killing 12 other people? And don't tell me 'some Dark spell,' Ron. It doesn't make any logical sense. Spells may be magic, but they have _rules_ , we've been learning that in Arithmancy. And I've done a bit of reading ahead in Transfiguration, too, and there are rules there as well. Like, you can't transfigure edible food, and you can't actually turn one thing into something else, just into something that looks and acts like something else. To even begin to approach something that might conceivably be able to rearrange the actual atoms of an object, you have to go into Alchemy, and even that has its limits. Though that may be more a conceptual limit than anything else. Since most wizards don't know about atoms, I wonder if knowing about atoms might change the rules of transfiguration or alchemy? Hmm... I'll have to look into that later, in 6th or 7th year or beyond; if I can make breakthroughs in that area, I could become famous for something I actually achieved myself.”

 

“Whadda ya mean 'beyond'?”

 

“Well it _is_ possible to stay in Hogwarts for longer than seven years, if you want to take some Mastery-level classes like Alchemy, from Dumbledore. You can't get an actual Mastery at Hogwarts, as N.E.W.T. is the highest qualification the school has, but you can get a head start on Mastery-level stuff here at Hogwarts, and finish up elsewhere.”

 

“And you _want_ to be that much of a swot?”

 

“Hey, if I can expand the range of wizarding powers with knowledge from the Muggle world, not only will that get me in textbooks and other books, maybe even win me awards, it should also put a sizable hole in the whole pureblood mania thing. Plus, I'd go from being just the Boy-Who-Lived to someone more like Dumbledore. You know, famous for some actual accomplishment. Plus, it might help if Voldemort ever rises again.”

 

Ron flinched at the name. “Say You-Know-Who will you?”

 

Harry sighed in exasperation at Ron.

 

~~~

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I don't remember if I told you this or not, but I wasn't looking forward to going home this Christmas. Well, seems I was right to dread it. I'm fine, but Father and I had another row. It was a bad one. Mother had to beg me not to run away from home, and she struggled to calm Father down. I suspect he'll be sending you a letter at some point demanding you stay away from me, but I want you to ignore him if he does. Not completely; you should still reply to him if he writes you. I don't know what you should say, but he'll be even angrier if you don't respond._

 

_Anyway, I'm including my Yule gift to you in this package. Sorry it's late; I forgot until just yesterday that you don't really like Christmas. I hope you like it._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

 

Harry set the letter aside and put Draco's package next to a small decorated Yule tree he'd bought at Hogsmeade. It was a sapling in a planter, and thus alive. He was planning to keep it until Spring and then plant it on the grounds somewhere, probably over near where Shadow's doghouse was. Sure, he preferred Yule, but since Christmas was what many of his friends celebrated instead, he didn't mind waiting to open his presents then.

 

As he set the present down with others from his friends, it occurred to him that Sirius had probably only used the doghouse to humor Harry, since he could get into the Shrieking Shack, which had to be a lot cozier than a doghouse, even if there were no warming charms there because of Sirius's lack of a wand. He made a mental note to cast some warming charms on the Shack the next time he was there.

 

He had finished reading through the book of dog food recipes. He had cross-referenced it with a book about what kinds of things dogs were allergic to. He didn't know if that would make a difference for an animagus or not, since transfiguration didn't really change what something was, just what it looked and acted like, but since he didn't know much about the animagus transformation yet, he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. He _had_ found out enough, though, to come up with his own dog-food recipe that would hopefully taste better to Sirius.

 

Since he didn't want to be out past curfew, he called Netty the House Elf and asked her to give the recipe to the house elves, and why. Netty was only too pleased to help, as usual.

 

~ ~ ~  
  
On Christmas, Ron and Hermione woke him up and the three of them opened gifts in their pajamas. Harry was pleased to note that his Slytherin friends Antigone, Angela, and Danzia had sent Ron and Hermione gifts as well. Even Draco had decided to give Ron and Hermione gifts as well. Harry was a little concerned about how Ron would react to this. Ron was suspicious, but after having Hermione do some tests on it with her wand, he opened it and looked to see what it was. He was surprised to find that Draco had sent him a brand-new Cleansweep 7 broomstick.

 

“WOW!” Ron said in awe. “My own broomstick! Hmm... maybe Draco isn't half bad after all.”

 

“This must be his way of apologizing for making fun of your family in the past,” Hermione said.

 

“Well if so, apology accepted. I'll have to send him a thank-you note.”

 

“He knew enough not to get you a really expensive broom, too, in case you didn't accept something so pricey.”

 

“Yeah. Wow, we'll have to take this to the grounds later so I can fly it. What'd he get you, Hermione?”

 

She searched around for her gift from Draco. As she did, Harry leaned over to Ron.

 

“You're not upset Draco got you such an expensive gift?” Harry asked Ron so only Ron could hear. “You don't usually like people to get you expensive gifts.”

 

“Yeah, well... it's only because he got me a broomstick my parents could afford, if I did something to earn one, like becoming Prefect. If he'd gotten me something pricier, I might have thought he was trying to rub in my face that he's rich, even if he's gotten better.”

 

“So if I had gotten it for you instead of him?”

 

Ron shrugged. “You could probably get me a Nimbus and I wouldn't have minded. It's you, after all.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, I'm trying to be better about that kind of thing. Try to not be so prideful.”

 

Harry blinked, surprised but pleased.

 

“Are you two done talking now? I was waiting to open my gift from Draco until you were done.”

 

“Sorry, 'mione, go ahead,” Ron said.

 

She nodded, and tore open the paper covering her gift from Draco, then opened the box. From inside, she pulled out... a book.

 

Ron chuckled. “He's got you pegged, 'mione.”

 

She pulled out the large tome and Harry caught the title. “'Advances in Modern Arithmancy' by Archimedes Lancaster,” Harry read aloud. “Oh yeah, you and Draco are the two top Arithmancy students in our year, aren't you?”

 

“Er, yes,” she said.

 

“What, Draco's doing better in a class than you, Harry?”

 

Harry shrugged. “We can't all be good at everything. I struggle with maths. If I had a calculator that worked in Hogwarts, that would help me a lot. And I don't know how to use an abacus.”

 

“Really? Well I could teach you, if you'd like?”

 

“Sure thing, Hermione. That would be useful. Can I look at that book a little?”

 

“Of course, Harry. I still have my other gifts to open.”

 

Harry looked inside the large book. It was over 1000 pages long, and the pages were huge. He looked at some of the maths in it. He didn't understand any of it at all. But then, it looked to be Mastery level maths.

 

“This looks well past N.E.W.T. level, Hermione. Will you be able to understand it?”

 

“Probably not without help from Professor Vector. Even with her help, it'll likely be very challenging. But it'll be fascinating to try.”

 

“What'd he get you, Harry?” Ron asked.

 

Harry opened his own gift from Draco. When he looked at it, he burst out laughing.

 

“Oy, what's funny?”

 

Harry managed to stop laughing, and took the gift out. It was a book.

 

“It's not really funny, it's just that I've been thinking lately about this subject.”

 

He held up the book. It was called “An Introduction to the Animagus Transformation” by Asena MacLir.

 

“Oooh!” Hermione cried out all of a sudden, from her examination of the book Draco had gotten her. “Lancaster is a Muggle-born, and all of the maths in this book are taken from higher-level Muggle maths from his time studying at Muggle university, which are well beyond anything wizards have yet on their own!”

 

Harry chuckled. “I guess that proves Draco is taking Muggles seriously now.”

 

“Anyway, Harry, is that book Draco got you about how to become an Animagus?”

 

“I think so. Hold on, there's a note.”

 

 _Harry,_ the note read, _I had a hard time getting this book for you without Father or Mother finding out, but I figured with You-Know-Who after you that it might be useful later. I'm given to understand he's still a spirit right now, but if it's true that he can get a new body, then you might need this. As the title suggests, it is a book about how to become an Animagus. I wouldn't recommend doing it on your own, but I also wouldn't recommend going through the Ministry. You-Know-Who went after the Ministry last time, so it might be best to keep it a secret if you become an Animagus._

 

“Wow, this is a really good gift. I'll be giving Draco a thank-you note when he gets back.”

 

“What? Oh, right; his father might not appreciate us sending him things to his house. By the way, did you get him something?”

 

“Yeah. I gave it to him before he left.”

 

“Oh? Mind telling us what you got him?”

 

“A few books about Muggle subjects. A used science textbook, a book about the history of science, and a few Muggle novels.”

 

“Oh? Which novels?” Hermione asked with interest.

 

“Let's see... Orwell's 1984 and Animal Farm, 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee, and 'White Fang' by Jack London.”

 

“Ooh, we should do Muggle classics in MAC! We could start with those.”

 

“Muggles write novels?”

 

“Yes. I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure they invented novels. I know about the people who invented novels, and they're probably all Muggles. They were all women, too, come to that.”

 

“They were?”

 

“Yes. Mary Shelley wrote the first science fiction novel. Then Baroness Orczy wrote the first superhero novel when she wrote 'The Scarlet Pimpernell.' And the first ever 'modern' novel was written in 1007 AD in Japan, by Murasaki Shikibu. It was called 'The Tale of Genji.' And I seem to recall, also, that there may have been one even older than that. Some woman, I forget her name, wrote a book back in like, Assyria or Mesopotamia. But I don't remember any more about it than that.”

 

“Wow, Harry,” Hermione said. “Even I didn't know all of that. I knew about Mary Shelley and Baroness Orczy, but I didn't know about 'The Tale of Genji.' I'll have to look into that later, just to see for myself.”

 

Harry shrugged. “The history of writing was a special interest of mine for a time.”

 

They went back to their Christmas/Yule gifts, then. From Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry got a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle, as well as a Weasley sweater. The Weasley twins got him a couple things from Zonko's. From Ron, he got a wizarding novel that took place back during the witch hunts in Europe. Hermione got him a copy of “The Handmaid's Tale” by Margaret Atwood.

 

The gifts he got from his other Slytherin friends came next. Antigone got him a catalog of magical glasses frames from a wizarding optometrist in Diagon Alley, which he appreciated because the cheap glasses he had, his aunt and uncle had only got him because he kept knocking over things and running into walls without them. It hadn't really occurred to him before to get new ones. Inside the catalog was a gift certificate for the place, in the amount of ten galleons. Harry thought that was a little pricey for glasses, but considering what some of the glasses in the catalog could do, the price made sense.

 

Angela had gotten Harry a nifty gadget that was like a portable Foe Glass crossed with a sneak-o-scope. According to the instructions, it would detect enemies like a Foe Glass and even showed them in a little mirror inside the device (which opened like a makeup compact), and would vibrate and heat up in his pocket if it detected they were close enough to see the whites of their eyes. It was so amazing and useful that Ron and Hermione both fawned over it, too.

 

He set that aside and opened his gift from Danzia. It was a box of 77% cacao dark chocolate, with a note inside saying 'I have it on good authority that dark chocolate makes a better dementor treatment than milk chocolate does. And it tastes better, too.'

 

Now there, all that was just was his gift from Luna. He opened the box and found a book about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and other such creatures from cryptomagizoology. He shrugged and looked through it anyway.

 

“Ooh,” Hermione said, looking at one of her own gifts; one from him, in fact. “Thank you for this, Harry!”

 

“Another book, 'mione? Between the two of you, you're going to have more books than the Hogwarts library before long,” Ron joked.

 

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ron briefly, then eagerly opened up the book from Harry and began reading it.

 

Harry reflected on what Ron had said, though. It was true that his trunk was getting to the point where he had to shrink most of his books to fit them in there. He was going to have to get a better trunk at some point.

 

Now that all the gifts were exchanged that he could be seen exchanging, that just left a gift for Sirius. Other than the dog food, that was. There wasn't much he could do on such short notice, but he did harvest a couple of the mince pies and some of the nut brittle from Mrs. Weasley's present to regift to Sirius.

 

After gift-giving was done, they went down to breakfast, and as usual Harry went out to feed Shadow, but this time it was with dog food the house elves got for him, as well as an extra Christmas ham as a special treat for his dogfather, along with the fudge and a bar of the anti-dementor dark chocolate Danzia had given him. The dog-food he gave Shadow at the doghouse. The other gifts he gave Sirius at the Shrieking Shack.

 

“You got me gifts? Even though we don't have proof of Peter being alive?”

 

“Yes, well... I do believe you. And even if that turns out to be false, you haven't tried to hurt me, so what's the harm?”

 

“Harry, you're a good kid. Your parents would be proud of you.”

 

“Thanks. By the way, once term starts up again, Lupin is going to teach me to fight dementors. I gave it some thought last night, and I think I'll wait til the second lesson to tell him about Peter. I'll do it directly, by showing him the Map.”

 

“What if Peter gets lost in the mass of kids?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, that could be a problem.”

 

“Can't you show Moony the Map during the holidays?”

 

“I doubt it. The full moon is tonight.”

 

Sirius frowned, confused. “Are you sure? I managed to check a calendar before I came to Hogwarts and looked up the dates of the full moon, and I'm certain it's the 29th this month.”

 

“Really? Well the way he's been getting ill the last few days tells me it's tonight.”

 

“Now that _is_ odd. Of course, I don't know where Hogwarts actually is. I know the castle is Unplottable. I think Hogsmeade is, too. Not sure how that would influence the full moon's timing, or if it would. I can't think why it should.”

 

“That is odd indeed. Maybe it's something related to the place being Unplottable?”

 

“I can't see how that would work. I know from my time in Hogwarts that the Unplottable spell messes up the times of the constellations rising to make it harder to find where Hogwarts is that way. But the moon is the same everywhere, as far as I know, so what would be the point to messing up when the moon is full?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he's only really starting to get sick now, and I misread things?”

 

“Maybe. But the full moon ought to be four days away. I've never known Moony to get sick so far from the full moon. And you said he's been looking peakier than usual for a few days now?”

 

“Yes. Ever since I figured it out, I've been paying attention. He normally gets peaky a few days before the full moon. It was happening again, so I assumed it meant Christmas was the full moon.”

 

Sirius slapped his face suddenly.

 

“Yes?” Harry asked.

 

“I forgot something important. While the moon is technically only fully full for about a second or two, we can't tell without a telescope. The moon looks full for about three days.”

 

“Yes, but that would be the 28th through the 30th if your numbers are right. And he's been ill for...” he paused to count from memory. “Oh. Only two days now.”

 

“Counting today, or not?”

 

“Counting today. He started getting ill yesterday.”

 

“That's still four days before the moon starts looking full.”

 

“Does it make a different if it's only like, 75 or 85 percent full?”

 

“I think you'd have to ask Moony. It's been 12 years since I was around him enough to be paying attention. And who knows, maybe it gets worse as he gets older?”

 

“He's taking the Wolfsbane Potion. Would that influence it?”

 

Sirius shrugged. “No idea. It wasn't around when we were in school. In fact, I think it was invented while I was in Azkaban. Anyway, enough about that mystery. I, uh... I wanted to be able to say I got your a Christmas present, but I have no idea what you'd want. I've never seen you fly, so I figured I should find out about that before I assumed.”

 

“That was a good move. I don't really like flying, so a broomstick would be wasted on me. But how would you even get me anything? You're an escaped prisoner.”

 

“Oh, that's not a problem. I could take some money out of my Gringott's account by taking a signed request in as Shadow. The goblins don't care about wizarding legal matters enough to report money being taken from a known criminal's account as long as they can magically verify that the note was written by someone who's authorized to get into the account.”

 

“Really? That sounds ridiculous.”

 

“Well try to see it from their point of view. Would you care if a goblin who broke a goblin law having some business with you, as long as he or she was authorized and gave you some plausible deniability by not showing up in person?”

 

“Probably not. Ok, point taken.

 

“But back on track,” Harry continued. “You don't have to get me anything for Christmas.”

 

“I don't have to, but I would have liked to. I would have been getting you Christmas and birthday presents every year for the last 12 years if things had gone differently.”

 

“We'll worry about that when we get this Peter thing taken care of, okay?”

 

“Yeah. And whenever Lupin gets better, that's when I'll start.”

 

Then, struck by a sudden urge, Harry went over to Sirius and hugged the man, who – after looking shocked by the sudden show of trust – broke down crying.

 

 

 

Endnote: The idea for Draco's gift of the Arithmancy book by Archimedes Lancaster was inspired (vaguely) by an HP fanfic called “The Arithmancer” by White Squirrel, and the sequel, “Lady Archimedes.” I highly recommend both fics, as well as the fic that inspired them, titled “Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality” by Eliezer Yudkowsky (formerly under the pen name “Less Wrong.”). Slight trigger warning for HPMOR: character death, but it doesn't stick.

 

Endnote 2: The name of the author of the Animagus book Draco sent Harry is meaningful. I'll write a short fic taking place in this story's world for the first person to tell me what the correct significance is. If you win, feel free to give me a prompt for the short fic. It may or may not be considered canon to the main fic's story, depending on various factors.

 

Endnote 3: The books by women that Harry talks about in this chapter are true, to the best of my knowledge and Google skills.

 

Last endnote: Does anyone with better memory than me know if Harry got himself any decent Muggle clothes in this fic? My memory is crappy, my notes are disorganized and full of things that haven't happened yet or never came to pass, and I don't really feel like re-reading the whole thing to find out, so it would help me out. It's not for anything major, just curious. Feel free to ignore this request.

 

 

 


	6. Sniffing Out A Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Sirius try tackling how to catch Peter Pettigrew. Harry also has a thought about the dementor memories that has Lupin and Dumbledore concerned. Ron and Harry start trying to figure out how Hermione is getting to all her classes, by using the scientific method.

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

Note 3: Sorry for the wait. Been having writer's block with this one.

Note 4: I had to edit something in this chapter. Something Harry said didn't match the history of the story.

 

 

**Chapter Six: Sniffing Out A Rat**

 

Harry was sitting in his room, staring at the Marauder's Map. Specifically, he was staring at the dot labeled both 'Ron Weasley' and 'Peter Pettigrew,' down in the Common Room, silently annoyed that he couldn't do anything yet about Peter without tipping the animagus off. As it was, he needed to keep on the alert to hide the Map away from Peter in case he recognized it.

 

He wanted to go to Lupin about it, too, but Lupin was still ill from the full moon. After asking the headmaster, it transpired that Lupin generally slept for almost an entire day and a half after each full moon to recover his strength. The Wolfsbane potion, the headmaster had explained, made Lupin much more ill, made him ill sooner, and made the after-effects last longer, so it wasn't an ideal solution, but prevented needing to use his old standby of the Shrieking Shack, which was a security risk with Black on the loose. Harry didn't tell Dumbledore anything else yet, of course, but he was sorely tempted to.

 

So until his second anti-dementor lesson with Lupin, unless he changed his mind and did it sooner, Harry alternated between staring at Pettigrew on the Map and helping Ron and Hermione with Hagrid's defense of Buckbeak in the library. Or, when he couldn't do either, he read his books from Christmas.

 

The Animagus book was a fascinating read, especially, but he tried to read it whenever Scabbers wasn't around, in case the rat animagus got too nervous about it. After all, animagi could always sense other animagi, at least up close in their animal form, according to Sirius. Harry tried to remember if McGonagall had ever gotten close to Scabbers in her cat form. It didn't seem likely; she didn't seem to do it much, though if she used it for patrolling hallways, he wouldn't be surprised. Mrs. Norris was good at sneaking up on people, and he suspected a cat animagus would be even better at it. Which made him wonder if Mrs. Norris was part kneazle like Crookshanks too, since she didn't really seem like a normal cat.

 

On the 31st, Harry had something else to worry about, though. Because that day he received a letter from an eagle owl that was bigger than Draco's, and looked meaner. He cautiously took the letter from the owl by holding the letter in a piece of cloth in case it was hexed, and the owl took off at once, which was odd; owls usually wanted a treat for their work.

 

The letter, which he had Hermione scan for magic first, was sealed with the Malfoy family crest, which he recognized from Draco's letters, but he had a suspicion it wasn't from Draco. After cautiously opening it despite Hermione saying it was safe, he found it was from Mr. Lucius Malfoy.

 

When he was done reading it, he tossed it aside in disgust.

 

“What's it say, Harry?”

 

“Uses a lot of fancy words and formal style to tell me to leave Draco alone, that there are Death Eaters who wriggled out of going to Azkaban, and that it is thus unsafe for him to associate with me. Though he does also acknowledge that he doesn't really have any control on what either of us do or who we associate with while in school. I can't say I'm terribly surprised by it.”

 

“So what're you gonna do, mate?” Ron asked.

 

“Ignore it, of course. Assuming Draco wants to ignore it, that is. I'll have to wait till he comes--- never mind,” he said, as a more familiar eagle owl flew to the window. He took its letter and thanked the owl with an owl treat.

 

“That from Draco?” Ron asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_Sorry about my father's letter. I swear it's not hexed, I watched him write it, telling him not to the whole time, but of course he won't listen to me. He's not happy with me. Honestly, if I had any other siblings, especially brothers, I'm sure he'd be disowning me by now for associating with you. But between his hatred of you and your ideals, and mother's worries about me being known to be a blood traitor now, I'm not surprised he's trying to intimidate you. But I'm not going to let his disapproval stop me from being your friend, if you feel the same way. Don't write me your answer, it'll just anger father. You can tell me when I get back. But for now, just don't send any more letters to me while I'm here at home. Neither of my parents will like that much._

 

_Hoping we're still friends,_

_Draco_

 

_PS = Hermione might find something interesting in this letter if you hand it to her._

 

Confused, Harry showed the letter to Hermione, who read it and also looked confused by the postscript. Then she had an aha! moment and checked the letter with her wand. Nothing happened at first, so she tried a few more. When that failed, she had one more idea to try. Using her wand to prick her finger, she dropped a single drop of blood on the letter before either boy could stop her. The blood evaporated from the page, and more words appeared under the postscript:

 

_Just so you know, mother never agreed with father becoming a Death Eater. She's still a blood purist, but she never approved of You-Know-Who or his tactics, even before marrying father. She believes that whatever our differences of opinion, the magical world is too small to afford to spill any magical blood. Don't let that information around too much, though; despite this, she's never resisted You-Know-Who, as she values her own life and her family too much to resist him._

 

The words faded after a few minutes, and no matter what Hermione did to it, even bleeding on the page again, they didn't return.

 

“That's a clever spell he did on the letter,” she said. “He wrote a secret message that resists the usual litany of spells used to reveal hidden messages. All I got from 'specialis revlio' was a faint sense that there was magic on the page. It's gone now, by the way. The magic disappeared as the message did.”

 

“I don't like it,” Ron said. “It sounds like dark magic.”

 

“Blood magic isn't all dark,” Hermione said. “Blood seals aren't, and I think this was some sort of blood seal. The goblins of Gringott's require blood seals for some things far more powerful and binding than this. Honestly, Ron, just because it's a little icky doesn't mean it's dark magic.”

 

“It's useful, too,” Harry said. “If you knew to key it to a specific person, somehow, then only that person could reveal the message. That could come in handy in the future. I'll have to get him to teach me that one.”

 

“Yes, that's what he did. I don't think your blood would have done it, Harry.”

 

“How'd he get Hermione's blood signature, though?” Ron demanded.

 

“Probably from a hair sample. Blood and hair both contain DNA, which is unique to the individual, aside from identical twins. And even then, there might be some magical component to it that's unique to each person, even in the case of identical twins.”

 

“Well... that's alright then, I suppose.”

 

Hermione just rolled her eyes at his over-protectiveness.

 

*

 

The third of January was the start of term again. Hagrid was feeling a little better, and instead of flobberworms, he had a bonfire full of magical salamanders for them all to keep warm around as they watched the little fire elemental creatures scamper around the burning logs.

 

He was most anxious to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts first, though, to remind Lupin of the anti-dementor lessons.

 

“Ah yes,” said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. “Let me see... how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough. I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this. We can’t bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on.”

 

“Still looks ill, doesn’t he?” said Ron as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. “What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?”

 

Harry looked at Hermione, who – by the look on her face – knew what he did.

 

“Well, Ron... we'll tell you in a bit. Come here,” Hermione said, pulling them into an unused classroom and setting up quick wards so they wouldn't be overheard.

 

“So what's wrong with him?”

 

“Well let's see,” she said, enjoying herself a little too much, “he's always sick once a month, isn't he?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. Wait... do you reckon he's a werewolf?”

 

“I don't know for sure,” she said, “but it makes sense.”

 

“He is,” Harry said. “He confirmed it to me a few weeks ago when I asked him about it. I figured it out after Snape's werewolf essay. Also, his boggart is a full moon.”

 

“What? You're sure? Wow, better not tell Dumbledore then, or he'll get---”

 

“Dumbledore already knows Lupin's a werewolf. Lupin was a werewolf when he went to school as a kid. The rest of the staff know, too. He takes Wolfsbane Potion Snape brews for him, and curls up in his office as a harmless wolf.”

 

“Seriously? Wow, they sure kept a lid on that one. Oh! That's why Snape skipped ahead to werewolves?”

 

“Yes. He hates Lupin, just like he hated my father. He and my father were friends in school, and were enemies of Snape.”

 

“So he's trying to get Lupin found out so he'll have to resign?”

 

“Sounds right. But of course he probably made a promise to Dumbledore to not tell anyone, so he was reduced to dropping a huge hint.”

 

“Yes, Harry wasn't the only one to figure it out from that essay. I did, too. I don't know if anyone else did, though.”

 

“About half the class did the essay. For all we know, all those people know now. But we can't exactly ask in case we're wrong. I wasn't even sure about Hermione knowing, but I took a calculated risk because I trust both of you.”

 

“Well my lips are sealed, mate. I like Lupin, I don't care if he's a werewolf, especially if he's taking precautions. But I reckon Antigone or Danzia might have figured it out.”

 

“I'll have to do some careful probing to figure out if they know,” Harry said.

 

*

 

At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binns’ desk.

 

“What’s that?” said Harry.

 

“Another boggart,” said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. “I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest we’ll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he sees you, so we’ll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like.”

 

“Okay,” said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real dementor.

 

“So …” Professor Lupin had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. “The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry — well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

 

“How does it work?” said Harry nervously.

 

“Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus,” said Lupin, “which is a kind of anti-dementor — a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor.”

 

“Er... do you think I could see yours, to know what to expect?”

 

Lupin smiled. “Of course, Harry.” He took out his wand and stood a moment thinking before he cast the spell. “ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

 

Out of Lupin's wand came a translucent wolf made of bright, silvery light.

 

“As an aside, there's also an advanced trick for those who can cast a corporeal patronus, where we can send messages to other people; messages that cannot be faked or intercepted. If you'll go to the other side of the room, I will demonstrate.”

 

Harry nodded and got in place. When he got there, he saw Lupin whisper something to the patronus, at which point the patronus ran through the air quick as a wink and opened its mouth, saying in Lupin's voice, “This is a test of the patronus communication method, Harry.”

 

“That's brilliant, Professor,” Harry said as the wolf faded. Harry went back over to Lupin.

 

“Of course, yours will look different, I'm sure. Every wizard who can conjure a patronus has a different animal. Well, I suppose there may be some overlap given the limited number of known animals in the world, but I believe you know what I mean.”

 

“Yes. It's a little like animal guides, isn't it?”

 

“Indeed. Many cultures have similar ideas. And there are cultures of wizards who don't use wands for one reason or another, but can still cast a patronus. I wouldn't recommend trying it without becoming proficient at wandless magic first, though, and that takes years, even decades, to master.”

 

“So the incantation is _Expecto patronum?_ ” Harry asked.

 

“Yes. But there's more to it than that. There is an emotional component to the spell. You have to concentrate on a single, very powerful happy memory when you cast it.”

 

“A powerful happy memory?” Harry asked, sounding worried.

 

“Do you not have happy memories?”

 

“Oh I do. I just don't know if I have any strong enough for this.”

 

“Harry, I am a werewolf who was bitten as a young boy. I have spent most of my adult life shunned, unable to work, usually homeless, often starving, because of what I am. If _I_ can find a happy memory sufficient to cast a patronus... well I know everyone is different, but I would be very surprised if you didn't have one.”

 

“That _is_ a good point,” he conceded.

 

“Okay, ready to start?”

 

“Yes.” Harry closed his eyes and started to cast his mind about for a happy memory. Certainly, nothing that had happened to him at the Dursleys’ was going to do. Finally, he settled on the moment when he had first found out he was a wizard.

 

“Concentrating on your happy memory?”

 

Instead of answering, he tried casting the spell. “ _Expecto patronum. Expecto patronum. Expecto patronum!_ ”

 

A small whisp of light came out of his wand.

 

“Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!”

 

“Very good,” said Lupin, smiling. “Right, then — ready to try it on the boggart dementor?”

 

“I don't know, shouldn't I learn to do it first and _then_ try it with the boggart?”

 

“Hmm... I hadn't considered that, but that's a good idea. Alright then, try it again.”

 

He tried it again, with the same memory, trying to feel how excited he had been. “ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

 

More wispy gas, barely there at all.

 

“Actually, I think that one's not right. I was thinking of when I first found out I'm a wizard, but that one was tainted by worry and a little confusion and disbelief. So maybe that's not a good one.”

 

“Hmm, yes, that doesn't sound quite right to me either. But from what I've read in my studies, it doesn't have to be a pure happiness. The patronus charm can be powered by love for friends, family, or others, especially love mixed with protectiveness. That would be a hard emotion to conjure in a situation like this, of course, but something to keep in mind.”

 

“Friendship, you say?”

 

Harry started thinking again, and picked a new memory: meeting his first ever friend, Ron Weasley.

 

He tried casting the charm with that memory twice, but both times the mist was just as pathetic.

 

“Don't punish yourself, Harry. For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct patronus is a huge achievement. As you saw on the train, it's enough to make a single dementor back off.”

 

“Yes, but what if there's another crowd of them like before? I need to protect my friends.” Then, on a whim, he cast it again. “ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

 

The vapor was stronger this time, brighter.

 

“Open the box,” he said.

 

“You're sure? You wanted to cast a corporeal patronus first, didn't you?”

 

“I did. But with what you said... I had an idea, and it requires the boggart dementor.”

 

“Alright then,” Lupin said, getting into position.

 

Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.

 

A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him. Harry concentrated on Lupin, whom he was fond of, trying to concentrate on thinking of the boggart as a real dementor, as Lupin in real danger.

 

“ _Expecto patronum_!” Harry yelled.

 

But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving. Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head — “ _Not Harry_! _Not Harry_! _Please_ — _I’ll do anything_ —”

 

“ _Stand aside_. _Stand aside, girl_!”

 

“Harry!”

 

Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn’t have to ask what had happened.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses.

 

“Are you all right?” said Lupin.

 

“Yes …” Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it.

 

“Here —” Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.”

 

“Thanks, professor, but I brought my own this time,” he said, pulling the bar of dark chocolate Danzia had given him from the pocket he'd had it in.

 

“Harry, won't that chocolate be melted?”

 

“I put a Cooling Charm on the pocket, so I doubt it.”

 

As he ate the chocolate, Lupin looked at the wrapper and nodded.

 

“Seventy-seven percent cacao dark chocolate. Impressive. Where did you get it?”

 

“My friend Danzia got it for me.”

 

“Danzia McCullough?”

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

“Because I believe one of her fathers is an Auror.”

 

“Ah, so that's the 'reliable source' she mentioned in her Christmas note.”

 

It seemed she'd been right, too. He remembered how the milk chocolate on the train had made him feel, and this was so much better. The taste was a bit bitter, not something he'd probably want to make a habit of eating otherwise, but he was eating it for its medicinal use.

 

“Kinda bitter.”

 

“Dark chocolate takes some getting used to, especially at that high a concentration of cacao.”

 

Harry nodded and put the last of that piece of chocolate in his mouth.

 

“Ready to try again?” Lupin asked when Harry had swallowed it.

 

“Yes.”

 

“All right then … ,” said Lupin. “You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on. … That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough.”

 

Harry frowned a little at that, but nodded, and thought. He thought of Luna, thought of his friendship with her and imagined needing to protect her.

 

“Ready?” said Lupin, gripping the box lid.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Go!” said Lupin, pulling off the lid. The room went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its breath; one rotting hand was extending toward Harry —

 

“ _Expecto patronum_!” Harry yelled. “ _Expecto patronum_! _Expecto pat_ —”

 

White fog obscured his senses … big, blurred shapes were moving around him … then came a new voice, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking —

 

“ _Lily, take Harry and go_! _It’s him_! _Go_! _Run_! _I’ll hold him off_ —”

 

_The sounds of someone stumbling from a room — a door bursting open — a cackle of high-pitched laughter —_

 

“Harry! Harry, wake up.”

 

Lupin was tapping Harry hard on the face. This time it was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor.

 

“I heard my dad,” Harry mumbled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him — he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it.”

 

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.

 

“You heard James?” said Lupin in a strange voice.

 

“Yes. Sorry, I forgot for a moment you knew my dad.”

 

“It's alright, Harry. Pain shared is pain that becomes easier to cope with.”

 

“Thanks, Professor.”

 

“You're welcome. But Harry, listen — perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced. I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this.”

 

“No!” said Harry. He got up again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is. Hang on.”

 

He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory … one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus...

 

 _Sirius Black is innocent_ , he thought. _He's my godfather, and when we prove he's innocent, maybe I can go live with him._

 

Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once more.

 

“Ready?” said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. “Concentrating hard? All right — go!”

 

He pulled off the lid of the case for the last time, and the dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark —

 

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!” Harry bellowed. “ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_! _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!”

 

The screaming inside Harry’s head had started again — except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio — softer and louder and softer again — and he could still see the dementor — it had halted — and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s wand, to hover between him and the dementor, and though Harry’s legs felt like water, he was still on his feet — though for how much longer, he wasn’t sure —

 

“ _Riddikulus_!” roared Lupin, springing forward.

 

There was a loud crack, and Harry’s cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he’d just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a full moon again.

 

“Excellent!” Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. “Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!”

 

“Can we have another go? Just one more go?”

 

“No, I think not, Harry. You’ve had enough for one night. Have some more chocolate, then go back to your dorm. In fact, have three or four pieces, or else Madam Pomfrey might just hex the both of us.”

 

He nodded, and ate four pieces of the dark chocolate, sitting at a desk to rest as he did.

 

When he was done with those, he got up and gave Professor Lupin a wan smile.

 

“Thank you for helping me, Professor.”

 

“You're welcome, Harry. Same time and place next Thursday, Harry?”

 

“Sounds good to me. See you then.”

 

“You too, Harry,” Lupin said as Harry headed toward the door.

 

He put his hand on the doorknob, but a thought occurred to him as he did, making him stop.

 

“Professor?”

 

“Yes, Harry?”

 

“How am I able to remember something from when I was one year old? Most people can't remember things from before they were six, and even fewer can remember things from before they were four.”

 

Lupin looked thoughtful. “I don't know, Harry. But you're right, it _is_ unusual. I've never heard of a dementor making someone remember something that far back before. Quite apart from the memory issue, a child that young doesn't generally know much of what's going on around them, or more accurately doesn't _understand_ much of what they're aware of. And to a child that young, there isn't a lot of difference in the emotional component to different things that upset them, due to that lack of understanding. Unless whatever upsets them is physically hurting them, of course. So I suppose it's possible that you might remember the scar being formed. But you wouldn't have understood what was happening to your parents...”

 

Lupin paused, frowning, before continuing. “In fact... you wouldn't have been able to understand what they were saying. It would have sounded like gibberish to you at that age. You should be _remembering_ it as gibberish, too.”

 

Harry didn't know what to say to that, since Lupin was the expert. So he just waited for Lupin to speak again.

 

“Well,” Lupin said at last, “that's a mystery for another night. I think I'll discuss it with the headmaster later. He might have heard or read something I haven't, some time in his very long life.”

 

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

 

“You're welcome. Good night, Harry.”

 

“Good night, Professor.”

 

*

 

With two new classes, anti-dementor lessons with Lupin, regular MAC meetings, and working with Sirius to try to plan Peter Pettigrew's capture, Harry was busier than ever before. But clearly, Hermione was having it far worse. Her immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.

 

“How’s she doing it?” Ron muttered to Harry one evening as Harry sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books.

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Getting to all her classes!” Ron said. “I heard her talking to Professor Vector this morning. They were going on about yesterday’s lesson, but Hermione can’t’ve been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures!”

 

“But she was,” Harry said. “She never misses Arithmancy, we have it at the same time.”

 

“Yeah, and that's just weird, but that's not even the half of it. Ernie McMillan also told me she’s never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she’s never missed one of them either! Not to mention all the Arithmancy classes going on during both those classes, too. Somehow, she's able to take three classes at the same time!”

 

“I don't know what to tell you, it's a mystery to me too. Unless wizards have figured out time travel, but that's just silly. If they had, surely they could just send someone back in time to kill Voldemort when he was a baby, prevent the whole war.”

 

“Time travel? You can't travel in time, Harry, that's impossible. I mean, I suppose everyone technically travels in time, but only in one direction.”

 

“Actually, time travel _is_ theoretically possible, according to advanced Muggle physics. But it would take an immense amount of energy. I don't know how much offhand, but I'm pretty sure that it's more energy than the entire human race is capable of even generating, even if we knew how to do it.”

 

“Yeah, but that's the Muggles. They don't know about magic.”

 

“Unless magic is more powerful than it seems to be, by several orders of magnitude, I doubt it. I mean sure, magic can do some things that ought to be impossible. Transfiguration, even though it fades in time, ought to be impossible by conventional laws of physics. And I'm convinced that conjured objects are always either actually summoned from somewhere else, like my pet snake Cleopatra, or are just constructs made of magic, because Albert Einstein, a famous Muggle physicist, has some pretty hefty mathematical proof to back up his statement 'matter can be neither created nor destroyed,' and its tie-in concept, that energy and matter are two forms of the same thing. So magic as a force comes from _somewhere,_ maybe another dimension, but I would be astonished—no, flabbergasted, if it was able to make actual atoms.”

 

“Mate, I know I've been going to MAC with you for years now, but most of that went right over my head.”

 

“Well all that's really important is I don't think magic can _create_ anything real, or even permanently alter its structure except by damaging or destroying it, and since magic is energy and matter – physical _stuff_ – is made of energy, with enough magic I think one could make matter. But matter is so complex, structurally, that I don't think wizards have ever managed to make any real matter with magic. Though that could just be because there isn't enough magic in the world to do it. And more importantly, the amount of energy it would take to make even a single atom, though immense, would probably be trivial compared to the energy needed to travel back in time.”

 

Ron, he saw then, still looked very confused.

 

“Would it help if I mentioned that physicists are pretty sure that the only time matter was ever 'created' was at the beginning of the universe, in an explosion that would wipe out our entire galaxy in a nanosecond if it happened again?”

 

“Wow! That'd be a HUGE explosion!”

 

“Larger than you know. Probably larger than anyone can know. But for a start, the galaxy is so large it takes light millions of years to get from one side to the other.”

 

Ron's eyes got huge, and his jaw dropped.

 

“Wait, so you think it would take more energy than _that_ to travel back in time?”

 

“I'm not certain, since I'm not a physicist, but it sounds right from what I've read.”

 

“Wow. Well then maybe one or more of these Hermiones everyone keeps seeing is, I dunno, an illusion? If you don't think magic could make real objects, maybe she's not really there.”

 

“I dunno. I mean, she still carries her things, and turns in her schoolwork. But I suppose there could be a spell to move stuff like that around, even invisibly. So she could still be an illusion. Possibly an illusion that's capable of, like, recording the whole class to view it later?”

 

“That'd be a hell of an illusion. But with McGonagall helping her, I bet she could do it, or learn how to do it herself from McGonagall. Anyway, we should try to touch her in classes, see if she's real.”

 

“Hmm... but I'm fairly sure conjured objects, even things that look and act like animals, are just some kind of magical illusion with magical force-fields to make them seem real. It's possible someone could do that with a human form, too. But yeah, we should still test if she's tangible – touchable, I mean – for completeness' sake, if for no other reason.”

 

“Right.” Ron said, then paused, thinking. “Say Harry, this is that Muggle science thing we're doing, isn't it? Come up with a hyposis, make osser... obzer... observations _,_ refine the hyposis, and so on?”

 

“It's not 'hyposis,' it's 'hypothesis,' but yes, you're right. Observation: Hermione appears to be in multiple places at once during some classes. Given the unlikeliness of time travel, we hypothesize she's making illusory copies of herself. Now, as you pointed out, we just have to test that hypothesis with more observations, like trying to touch her in classes to see if she's tangible. Let me just write this all down.”

 

“Cool. I never thought this science thing would be fun, but it kinda is. It's like solving a mystery. Which I guess it is. Muggles see things they don't understand, they come up with ideas to explain them, they test the ideas with observations, then if what they see doesn't match their ideas, they come up with better ideas, and start over again. Huh. I wonder what would've happened if we'd done that with the Philosopher's Stone thing?”

 

“We kinda did. When we thought it was the philosopher's stone, we tested that idea by telling Hagrid, and he confirmed it for us.”

 

“No I mean like, I wonder if we could have tested if it was Snape who wanted the stone?”

 

“Huh. No idea. I mean, we could have asked him about it, I suppose.”

 

Ron snorted. “Yeah, I can see it now. Hypothesis: Snape wants the stone. Test: We ask him if he wants the stone. Result: He either kills us or has us expelled. Yeah, I don't think that would have worked.”

 

Harry laughed. “Good point. Sometimes science is risky. But good scientists know better than to take unnecessary risks.”

 

*

 

Having been inspired by his and Ron's conversation about the scientific method, Harry decided to take a similar approach to the problem of Pettigrew. He met Sirius in the Shrieking Shack one Saturday after lunch for a brainstorming session.

 

“So,” Harry said, “our problem: we have to capture a rat animagus without him realizing what we're doing and running away.”

 

“Crookshanks told me that Peter has been very nervous all year, more nervous than could easily be explained by Crookshanks being after him all the time. So I reckon he found out I'd escaped and was scared I'd hunt him down.”

 

“Makes sense. I remember he was nervous ever since we got back from Egypt.”

 

“Yes. He probably thought I either wouldn't recognize him in the picture, wouldn't see it at all, or would be too out of my mind to do anything about it. Plus, I'm the first person to ever escape from Azkaban, as far as I know, and I only managed it because the ministry didn't know I'm an animagus.”

 

“Right. So I was thinking, to figure this out, we have to look at it like a puzzle to solve. First problem: he's already scared, so he'll be jumpy and prone to fleeing. Right now I think he's certain he's still safe in the castle, Crookshanks aside, which is the only reason he hasn't run off yet.”

 

“I agree. And I have an idea.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. I hate to suggest this so soon, especially as it'd be risky for me, but what if I left and let myself get spotted going away from Hogwarts, possibly even going abroad to get spotted there? Then he'd think I had given up, and you could work with Moony to capture him. He'd be easier to catch if he lets his guard down, after all, and he has no reason to think anyone in the castle suspects him.”

 

“I dunno. He knows you really well, remember? He might get suspicious. You broke out of Azkaban, presumably to find him and kill him, and then you just give up without even once making it into the castle? When he knows that you're an animagus too, and that you know of at least two secret entrances into the castle? No, I don't think he's that stupid, do you?”

 

“Damn, you're right. He's never been very book smart, but he's still pretty clever. He was clever enough to be a double agent for years without anyone ever suspecting, wasn't he? So yeah, that wouldn't work.”

 

They thought about the problem for several more minutes in silence.

 

“The problem is,” Harry finally said, “that we're limited. You coming into the school will scare him, and if anyone spots you inside the castle, it'll be like last year with the Chamber of Secrets all over again. They'll lock the castle down, search high and low for you, and all in all the task will be even harder. And then me... I don't know if I could just grab him. I mean, I know I live in the same dorm as Ron and Peter, but in two and a half years, I don't think I've ever once touched him, even by accident, and I don't think he'd take well to my sudden and ineffable desire to pet him or hold him. With you about, he'll be paranoid. After all, as unlikely as he might think it, you _could_ always tell someone else. Like Lupin. And you did. He'll be considering every possibility if he's smart, no matter how unlikely they may seem to him.”

 

“Hmm... yes. You know, I wish we could tell Dumbledore. He's always been good with this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

 

“Why _don't_ we tell him? I mean, we don't have to tell him you're involved. I did, after all, get the Map from Fred and George, and I could show it to Dumbledore. Though Fred and George might be mad if I did, they gave it to me in good faith. After all, Dumbledore could listen and let me keep the map, or he could not listen and take the map, or listen to me but still take the map. After all, it's kind of a dangerous thing to keep around.”

 

“Yeah, I guess it is. But it was also dangerous to run around the grounds of a school at night with a barely controlled werewolf tagging along. We were so carried away with our own cleverness that we were dangerously reckless idiots. The Map is nowhere near as stupid an idea as _that._ ”

 

“How'd you make it, anyway? I thought the school was Unplottable?”

 

“It is. But we found a way around that. See, the school's wards know everything there is to know about Hogwarts, insofar as its dimensions, rooms, secret passages, and the locations and true names of everyone on the grounds. We tried mapping out the inside of Hogwarts normally at first, to no avail. It wasn't until the year we became animagi that we knew enough from Ancient Runes and Moony's Arithmancy class to sneak into the ward room at the bottom of the school and made some additions to make the Map possible. We would've been expelled if we'd been caught, but we did so many things that could get us expelled that I've forgotten half of them by now, I'm sure. Hell, I once did something to Snape that would've gotten me expelled for sure from anyone other than Dumbledore, and would've landed me in Azkaban if James hadn't saved the day.”

 

“Oh? What was that?”

 

“This boy in our class, whom James and Moony and I all hated, but whom was very clever, was getting suspicious of where Moony went every full moon. So I, er... told him how to get past the Whomping Willow.”

 

“You _didn't_!”

 

“Like I said, I was an idiot. I thought it a perfect prank. I remember I was smiling when I told James, later. But James was properly horrified, which was infectious, thankfully, and he ran off like a demon from Hell to stop Snivelus before he went in after Moony. And he made it just in time to grab Snivelus before he could get bitten or worse, but he still saw Moony. James saved his life, and I was properly ashamed, and Snivelus was fine. All of which is, I think, the only reason we weren't expelled. Well, that and the fact Dumbledore would probably have been sacked if the incident had come to light. He'd been on pretty shaky ground with the Board of Governors on letting Lupin in to begin with, after all.”

 

“Wait, 'Snivelus'? You don't mean Severus Snape, do you?”

 

“Yeah, I do. How do you know that name?”

 

“He teaches Potions here.”

 

“WHAT? That slimy git, _teaching?_ When he was almost certainly a _Death Eater_?”

 

“He _was_?”

 

“Yes. In school, he always hung around with Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix LeStrange, and a bunch of other people who later became Death Eaters. And he always had his nose so far into the Dark Arts that it's a wonder he didn't smear the ink with his nose.”

 

“He hung out with Draco's father? Hmm... he probably _was_ a Death Eater, then. But Dumbledore trusts him, now.”

 

“Well we already know Dumbledore can be fooled. Peter fooled him, and so did the Dursleys. Granted, I don't think he ever actually _met_ Petunia or her husband before he put you with them, but they had corresponded. I remember Lily telling me once that her sister tried to plead to be allowed to come to Hogwarts, but of course she's a Muggle.”

 

“Wait, the Snape thing made me think of something. Just in case, roll up your left sleeve.”

 

“Huh? Why?”

 

“Just humor me, please.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, rolling up his sleeve to show Harry.

 

“Hmm... I don't see anything odd. Then again, I don't know what I'm looking for. I just know Draco said his father was especially keen on hiding his left arm for likely Voldemort-related reasons.”

 

“Your friend reckons Voldemort was stupid enough to put a visible mark on his followers' arms?”

 

“Stupid or not, you have to admit that even Dumbledore never figured it out. If he had, he would've told the Ministry, and they would have checked everyone arrested as Death Eaters for marks on their left arms, and you would have been freed.”

 

“Good point, Harry. Anyway, it'll be useful once we catch Peter, but until then it's not of much use.”

 

“It proves you're not a Death Eater.”

 

“First, all we have to go on for that is the word of the son of a suspected Death Eater, and even that's speculation on Draco's part since he's never even seen whatever it is that's supposed to be there. Second, we don't know if said mark is visible now that Voldemort's powerless, if it even was when he was powerful. And of course, we don't know what this mark even looks like. Though... if I had to venture a guess, I'd go with the Dark Mark. It was a shape they used to cast into the sky over the houses of people they killed, we never did figure out the spell they used for that. It was a green skull with a snake for a tongue. But this possible left-arm mark might have been a picture of a daisy for all we know. Not very likely, I know, but possible.”

 

“Is there some way we could look at Snape's arm?”

 

“You know him almost as well as I do, do you think that has any chance of succeeding? And anyway, nobody on our side was ever certain he was a Death Eater. Except for Dumbledore, I suppose, but we haven't asked him about it.”

 

“Ugh, we're getting off track again. How do we capture Peter?”

 

“I wish I knew, pup. Until you get Lupin on our side, though, I don't have any other ideas for now. I can keep thinking while you're up at school, though. Just leave me some conjured parchment and quills and so on, so I can write my ideas down.”

 

“Sure,” Harry said, conjuring those things for Sirius. He sighed. “This would be so much easier if I could get my friends in on this. But Hermione thinks I'm mad to even suggest you might be innocent, same with Ron. Draco's on my side, but I don't know how he'd react to you being at the school and interacting with me. Even if he thinks you're innocent in theory, he's been raised thinking of you as a mass murderer, so the fear might bypass his reason.”

 

“That, and I'm not so sure I want to trust a Malfoy, no matter how much you trust him, Harry.”

 

Harry sighed. “Well unless we think of something before then, I guess I'll just have to get Lupin in on this with the Map.”

 

“Agreed. Anyway, pup, it's getting late. You should head back before you're missed.”

 

“Okay, Sirius,” he said, hugging his godfather. “You stay safe, okay?”

 

“I will, Harry, I will.”

 

*

 

Professor Lupin had been meaning to ask Dumbledore about Harry's dementor lesson for weeks, but had only gotten around to it four days before January's full moon. He would have put it off til even later, except that he knew the stress of the full moon would make him forget again, possibly until the next full moon, so he decided to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.

 

“Ice mice,” he told the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, and the gargoyle let him by.

 

When he got upstairs, the door opened on its own and he heard Dumbledore say “Come on in, Remus.”

 

He came in, noting as he did that Dumbledore was across the room and sitting behind his desk.

 

“What can I help you with tonight, my good man?”

 

Remus closed the door behind himself. “You remember I'm giving Harry lessons on how to cast the Patronus Charm, headmaster?”

 

“Yes, I do. How is he progressing?”

 

“Quite well for his age. Having some difficulty resisting the allure of hearing his parents voices, of course, even given the context.”

 

“Understandable for an orphan who, unfortunately, did not know love growing up.”

 

“Yes. But something he said after the first lesson made me realize I had to talk with you about it. But I've been so busy I quite forgot until now.”

 

“I am listening,” Dumbledore said.

 

“Well, he asked me how he's able to remember that at all, when he was only an infant at the time. And he's right, it is extremely unusual for dementors to pull up memories that old. What's more, the words he hears in the memory are in English. He can understand them, headmaster, when by rights he should be remembering it as gibberish.”

 

Dumbledore was a hard man to read, but Remus had gotten to know him over the years, and the old man looked downright _disturbed_ by this news. But not _surprised,_ he noted. If he had to guess, the headmaster was more disturbed that Harry had even made note of the oddity of it, and further disturbed that he'd told someone about it.

 

“I see you know the reason, headmaster,” he said placidly, inviting the older man to continue.

 

“I have a suspicion. I cannot be certain yet. Certain things about Harry have bothered me since his first year.”

 

He paused, thinking, for several moments before continuing.

 

“Tell me, Remus, do you know Occlumency?”

 

Remus frowned slightly. “No. I know _of_ it, but I'm afraid I never bothered to learn it. Why?”

 

“Because unless you learn Occlumency, I'm afraid I cannot tell you all of what I suspect about this issue. In fact, I believe I cannot tell you _anything_ about my suspicions, given your cleverness, lest you figure it out from even a modified version of the truth. It is much too dangerous, that information.”

 

The hair on the back of his neck rose. “So I take it this has something to do with Voldemort?”

 

Dumbledore winced slightly.

 

“Yes. And this is why I cannot tell you more. I'm sorry, Remus. But if you wish to learn Occlumency, I can teach you.”

 

“I think I'll take you up on that, headmaster. I came in here today with a minor curiosity, and you've just turned it into a major one for me. I don't think I could go the rest of the year not knowing. How does February first sound to you, for my first Occlumency lesson?”

 

Dumbledore chuckled. “I should have known. Yes, the first sounds good to me. Let's say 9 pm, shall we?”

 

Remus nodded. “I'll see you then, headmaster.”

 

“Likewise. And Remus, before you go, let me fetch you a book on the subject. I had these books removed from the library because I do not feel most students should be learning this art.”

 

Dumbledore went into a door behind his desk for a few minutes and came back with a book called _Guide to Advanced Occlumency_ by Maxwell Barnett, which he handed to Remus.

 

“That should start to prepare you for our first lesson if you have the time, Remus, but if you don't, do not worry yourself about it.”

 

“Understood, Professor.”

 

“Good. Oh, and Remus? Do not tell Harry we had this discussion. Or anyone else, either, for that matter.”

 

“Oh? Why is that?”

 

“That Harry is clever enough to be suspicious of these dementor memories is disturbing. I wish you to try to nip his curiosity about this in the bud if he brings it up again. Lie if you must, but this issue is so dangerous I fear what his curiosity will uncover. I doubt he'll figure it out himself, especially with nothing more to go on than curiosity, so my fear is more about who he might accidentally tip off by digging into it. Perhaps I am being a touch too paranoid, but with Voldemort, even in his weakened state, it is best to take no unnecessary chances.”

 

Remus felt a shiver go up and down his spine. This was far more intense than he'd even remotely been prepared for when he came into Dumbledore's office.

 

“I understand, headmaster. You have my word, I won't tell anyone else of our conversation. And I'll do what I can to keep Harry away from this... little curiosity. At least until I find out what has you so scared.”

 

“Excellent. Now I bid you goodnight, Remus.”

 

“Good night, headmaster.”

 

 

(End chapter six)

 


	7. Prelude to Catching a Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title pretty much says it all.

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

Note 3: Sorry for the wait. Been having writer's block with this one on top of other issues. As you'll be able to see, I defeated this writer's block by doing something a bit different this time and changing the point-of-view away from Harry for a while.

 

 

**Chapter Seven: Prelude to Catching a Rat**

 

Their first week back from the holidays, and already Antigone, Angela, and Danzia were annoyed. Draco, who had gotten more withdrawn since getting back, had been spending so much time with them that Antigone and Angela had almost no time together alone. What was more, they weren't sure whether or not Draco realized the two of them were together. He was even getting on Danzia's nerves, but of course he was Harry's friend and he wasn't doing anything wrong as such. They felt for him, they did, but he couldn't spend the rest of his Hogwarts career like this. For one thing, the three girls were all in fifth year, and would be graduating Hogwarts in Draco's fifth year. For another, he was driving them spare.

 

Of course, they had tried to introduce him to Willem, but the two boys didn't really click. Willem was... well, he was probably in the wrong House, to be honest. Hufflepuff would have been a better fit, probably, because he had a strong sense of justice and was very outspoken in favor of Muggles, muggleborns, and others, as well as being a lot of fun to be around when he was in good spirits, but he was rubbish at Defense magic, and he tended to get very moody. But where most moody boys they knew about tended to switch between happiness and annoyance or anger, Willem tended to cry a lot instead. So he ended up getting on Draco's nerves just as much as Draco got on the girls' nerves, or would have, except Willem didn't seem to like Draco any more than Draco liked him.

 

The only other person in Slytherin they could potentially foist Draco off on was Qintar, the first-year black girl with red hair and freckles, who was also a Muslim. Except she and Willem had hit it off, and she was nearly as prone to crying jags as Willem was, despite normally being very silly and gregarious. Also, as a first-year, Draco didn't really want to spend a lot of time with her because he was at that stage where she was too young for him to really want to spend much time around. And yet he didn't see how three fifth-year girls might feel the same way about a third-year boy.

 

On the first Friday night back, the three girls were hanging out in their dorm together and talking about the issue. Their other dorm-mate was somewhere else, probably studying.

 

“So what are we going to do?” Antigone asked when they'd finished outlining the problem.

 

Danzia, who was sucking on a blood-flavored lollipop, took it out of her mouth to speak. “Dunno. I like Draco, he's gotten more interesting than he was before, but honestly, he needs some friends his own age, and not just Harry, Ron, and Hermione.”

 

“Exactly,” Antigone said. “He's the kind of personality who needs to be popular, and he's not doing well being so unpopular. He's a leader, not a follower. He needs to find his confidence again. Honestly, he's scared of Crabbe and Goyle, when he could hex them into oblivion faster than they could crack their knuckles. It's pathetic. I don't know how he stands being that way, it's so unnatural for him.”

 

“What can _we_ do about it, though?” Angela asked.

 

“No idea. But something needs to be done. If he can get back his confidence, and some of his cockiness, I'm sure he'll be alright and won't annoy us so much. He could bring the more neutral Slytherins in line. Hell, he could probably even sway some of the not-so-neutral people.”

 

“Like who?”

 

“Well,” Antigone said, thinking, “the Greengrasses would be easy. And Pansy still won't shut up about him. Sure she's a bit miffed that he's gone over to Harry's side, but she genuinely _likes_ Draco, and I'm certain she'll be fawning over him again if he finds himself. And with that kind of devotion, he could sway her.”

 

Danzia popped the lollipop out of her mouth again. “Yeah, and then there's Tracy Davis, she'd be relatively easy for him to collect. A bit more difficult would be Zabini.”

 

“Yeah. So, ideas? Danzia?”

 

“Hmm... the problem, as I see it, is he thinks he can avoid Crabbe and Goyle forever. He also doesn't see that his position is eroding. I think he might be convinced his position is gone already. I don't think he realizes the truth of the situation, or how much potential there is for him. Plus... he could easily couch things in terms of who's stronger.”

 

“Pardon? I don't understand.”

 

“Well, Angie, what I mean is that right now, people think the side of the Death Eaters who avoided Azkaban is the stronger side, politically. I think most of them believe the Dark Lord is gone forever, and even the ones who don't think that way still don't have any real loyalty to him, or they would have gone to Azkaban for him. They're the sort that go wherever the strongest wind is blowing. If someone like Draco could convince people that Harry is the way the wind is blowing, that could sway them.”

 

“But it's more complicated that that,” Antigone countered. “There's blood bigotry in the mix, too. The former Death Eaters have power because they're in line with that.”

 

“Yes, but I think most of that bigotry is based out of fear. They're afraid of Muggles because Muggles outnumber witches and wizards by such a huge margin.”

 

“If they had any idea what Muggles were really capable of, how clever they are and how far science has progressed, they might be even _more_ scared.”

 

“And yet,” Danzia said, “Draco has some inkling of that, and didn't go deeper into his bigotry. Why?”

 

“Um... I don't know. Why?”

 

“I think, whether he realizes it or not, that at some level he's realized that Muggle knowledge could be useful to expand wizard powers. Think of it; done right, Muggle knowledge could not only be used to make wizardkind more secure against the Muggles, thus alleviating some of that fear, but also it could lead to a solution to the problem of wizardkind dying out. We know being a witch or wizard is hereditary, and may sometimes be a mutation. If we could discover the Wizard Gene and how that all works, we could make sure every child born into the wizarding world would be magical. No more squibs! It might even be possible to take in Muggle orphans and make them magical. Muggle knowledge could turn things around and maybe even reverse our fortunes.”

 

“Holy crap! That'd be amazing if it turned out to be true. The trouble is, it's just conjecture. What if we found out the opposite? That the magical world was dying and nothing could be done about it? Then we'd be selling people on false hope.”

 

“Well at the very least, there's enough solid Muggle science to show that inbreeding is a massively stupid idea. It's a wonder people like Draco aren't horribly hideous with debilitating genetic diseases and deformities.”

 

“Yeah but it's like Hagrid said, most wizards and witches are half-blood, even if they claim otherwise.”

 

“True enough, Tig, but--”

 

Antigone banished a large pillow right into Danzia's face. “Don't call me Tig!”

 

Danzia laughed. “Fine, fine. Anyway, I'm bored now. We should make a project of Draco and write down ideas as they come to us, check in every now and then to see what we have.”

 

“Ooh, can I name the project?” Angela asked.

 

“Sure, my angel,” Antigone said, kissing her on the lips.

 

“Alright then, I want to call it Project Ladon.”

 

“Danzia, your thoughts?”

 

Danzia had the lollipop in her mouth, and so just gave Antigone a thumbs-up.

 

“Project Ladon it is, then,” she said, writing it down.

 

~

 

Harry was in the library when Luna came in and sat next to him on Saturday the 29th. They'd met a bunch of times since the term had begun again already, but Harry was fully in the swing of thinking about his Sirius problem. He'd had several anti-dementor lessons with Lupin since his first one, but he still hadn't told Lupin about Sirius. He kept losing his nerve, fearing Lupin wouldn't listen and would go straight to Dumbledore, and Sirius would end up back in Azkaban.

 

Luna was just studying next to him as she sometimes did, but this time he had a brainwave as he looked at her. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before!

 

“Luna?”

 

She set her book down and looked at him with a serene smile on her face. “Yes, Harry?”

 

“If I told you something really secret, you'd keep the secret for me, right?”

 

She paused a moment, thinking. “As long as the secret wasn't hurting anyone, then yes.”

 

He paused too at this point. That wasn't a very helpful response for what he was thinking of doing. He reminded himself that she was nothing if not open-minded. He tried to think how to proceed.

 

“Well, nobody's been hurt so far, and I can't imagine that's likely to change anytime soon. In fact, what we'd be doing would help keep someone from getting hurt.”

 

Luna looked intrigued. “What do you mean, Harry?”

 

“How do you feel about going for a walk on the grounds? We can discuss it more privately there.”

 

“Well, okay. Just let me drop my things off at my dorm, and see if I can find my outdoor clothing.”

 

“Okay. Meet me at the front entrance in 15 minutes?”

 

“Better make it 20. My things have a tendency to be difficult to locate.”

 

“Er, okay. See you soon!”

 

Luna gathered her things. Harry gathered his. Then they left the library and went to their respective dorms to get their things ready for the outdoors. In twenty minutes, Harry was waiting at the front door of the castle for Luna, who arrived fully 10 minutes late.

 

“Sorry for being late, Harry. I had a harder time finding my boots than I had anticipated.”

 

“Ah okay. Well come on, let's go.”

 

She followed him out onto the grounds, both of them bundled in heavy winter cloaks. Luna had on a very colorful sweater under her cloak, that he could just see part of. They both also had scarves on. Harry used a spell to clear the way ahead of them and he lead her out far enough away from the castle to be sure they wouldn't be overheard, and so that he could see anyone coming with enough warning to stop talking before they could be within earshot. Only when he was certain they were far enough away did he start to talk.

 

“So, er... you remember Shadow, right?”

 

“The stray dog that you feed sometimes? Yes, he's adorable. I couldn't forget such a cute dog. What about him, Harry?”

 

“What if I told you there was more to Shadow than meets the eye?”

 

“Ooh, is he a talking dog? I've heard that can happen sometimes. They stand up on their hind legs and speak in full English.”

 

“Er... well, in a manner of speaking, that's true. He's... an animagus.”

 

“An animagus? Your dog? You mean like Professor McGonagall?”

 

“Yes. Only he's unregistered.”

 

“Hmm... Harry, I don't know about this. He could be part of the Rotfang Conspiracy. I've heard the Rotfang Conspirators sometimes use animagi to scout out potential double agents. You're famous enough that could be useful to them.”

 

“Er... no. He's my godfather.”

 

“Oh? You have a godfather?”

 

“Yes. Well... don't freak out, but he's Sirius Black.”

 

“Oh, is that all? You had me worried there for a moment, Harry.”

 

“Wait, what? You're not freaking out? Why not?”

 

“Well I've known Sirius Black is innocent for _years_. A friend of Daddy's has been working on an article for the Quibbler, doing research to prove Sirius Black is really Stubby Boardman, lead singer of the Hobgoblins. So he's an animagus, is he? Interesting.”

 

Harry's brain ground to a halt as he tried to process where this conversation had gone.

 

Finally, he found his words again.

 

“Er, I don't know if he's ever been a singer; I haven't asked him. But uh... does this mean you'd be willing to help me figure out how to clear his name?”

 

“Of course, Harry. And if it's not too bold, how did you come to the conclusion he's innocent?”

 

He sighed, and proceeded to tell her all about how long he'd been spending time around Shadow, and how Sirius had revealed himself during the Christmas holidays, as well as the full story from Sirius's side. She listened quietly, nodding and asking questions now and then.

 

“So that's everything,” he finally finished. “And now I have to figure out how to get the truth out in a way that doesn't put him in more danger, and doesn't tip off Pettigrew.”

 

Luna continued to walk alongside him, both of them lost in thought.

 

“Well Harry,” she said after many minutes, “tell Lupin. If you need support, I can be there with you when you do it. I think you can do it if you try, and I don't think Professor Lupin will rush to judgment. From what you told me, it seems like Professor Lupin already knows that Shadow is an animagus, and hasn't told Dumbledore yet for some reason. Hmm... I think maybe he's feeling guilty that they violated Dumbledore's trust, and is trying to convince himself that Shadow's animagus powers have nothing to do with his escape. And it's also possible part of him doesn't really believe Shadow is guilty.”

 

“So you think that will be enough to keep him from freaking out and going to Dumbledore?”

 

“I believe so. And with two of us there, we might be able to slow him down if I'm wrong.”

 

Harry nodded. Okay. The anti-dementor classes are in his classroom at 8 pm on Thursdays.”

 

“I'll be there for the next one, Harry.”

 

“Oh, er... okay. But the next one is on February third, not next week.”

 

“Okay then, I'll be there for that one.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You're welcome, Harry.”

 

He smiled, as did she, and they continued their walk, hand in hand.

 

~

 

Not caring if Filch caught him, Draco was running through the corridor, escaping Crabbe and Goyle once more. He was in a bind, though, because Crabbe was around one corner, and Goyle was flanking him from another. He kept going back and forth, looking for a place to hide. Finally, he found a door he hadn't noticed before, and went into it, closing it and locking the door behind him.

 

As he panted, catching his breath in what looked like a cupboard for cleaning supplies, he felt himself feeling very angry. He was the scion of house Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! And here he was running from two morons that used to be his goons. What was he doing? Why was he letting himself be cowed like this?

 

Oh, right; he'd gone over to Harry's side, and lost his position in Slytherin. He sighed, annoyed now.

 

A few minutes later, he heard the two buffoons give up and leave. He waited a few more minutes before coming out of the cupboard and making his careful way back to the library, the one place he knew they wouldn't go looking for him.

 

He was wandering the stacks when he overheard a conversation composed of familiar voices whispering. It was Antigone, Angela, and Danzia. He was about to get out to greet them when the conversation turned to him, prompting him to continue eavesdropping.

 

“So Antigone, anything new to add to Project Ladon?” Danzia asked.

 

“Maybe. I've been giving it some thought, and I decided we should use the Network to make a couple clandestine deals for people to talk about Draco where he can hear them, saying things like 'a disgrace to the name Malfoy' or 'pathetic' to goad him into getting angry enough to come back to himself.”

 

“Yeah, that might work. Or it might backfire. We don't know how far gone he is. He's convinced he's lost his position, isn't he? He might hear those things and believe them. He may _already_ believe those things about himself. After all, he's been _acting_ kinda pathetic.”

 

“So I'm not the only one to worry that. Damn. And here I thought it was such a good plan.”

 

“Yeah, well, we need to find some way to do recon, find out what he really thinks. We can't keep going with guesses and half-baked theories. Like, does he think he's completely lost his position in Slytherin, or does he realize there's still hope? Does he realize that if he shaped up, he could bring the neutral Slytherins over to Harry's side along with him?”

 

Draco was shocked, but kept stock still, listening. There was more. These girls seemed to think he could bring a whole bunch of other Slytherins over to Harry's side with his natural leadership abilities if he could just get his confidence back. Little did he know, they were rehashing everything they'd already discussed in their dorm weeks ago, so he heard far more than he could have even guessed.

 

He was still standing there when they got bored of talking about him again and moved on to talking about homework. With nothing more to listen to, he sneaked away and left the library to do some thinking.

 

 

“Is he gone now?” Antigone asked.

 

Danzia stood up and checked. When she returned, she said, “Yeah, he's gone now.”

 

“Do you think it'll work?”

 

“I hope so. Otherwise we spent weeks of planning on nothing.”

 

“He won't suspect that was staged, will he?”

 

“Merlin, I hope not. Otherwise it won't work.”

 

 

Draco was sitting in the MAC classroom to think. So that's what they really thought of him, was it? Acting pathetic, but really having forgotten himself and his strength and confidence. They really thought he could turn many of the other Slytherins, did they? He grinned at this knowledge.

 

Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't be as easy to convert as they seemed to think, in his opinion. They were following Smith now. Slytherins following a Hufflepuff? Now  _that_ was shameful. He'd have a job convincing them of that, and convincing them to follow him again. But a good start would be standing up to them in Slytherin common room and giving them what-for. A verbal dressing-down wouldn't suffice, though. Hexing them would be seen as unfair. He'd have to get right up in their faces, fearless, daring them to do their worst. As much as they'd been threatening him, they'd be hesitant to actually attack him, since that would risk private Slytherin problems being exposed to the rest of the school. In a sense it already was; who knew how many people knew he'd been avoiding—no,  _running away from—_ them already. But they still wouldn't want to risk attacking a fellow Slytherin, it would be bad form, and even those two gorillas knew as much.

 

He grinned, writing down ideas. So much to plan, oh so much to plan indeed.

 

~

 

Danzia, Antigone, and Angela were all in the Slytherin common room the following evening when it happened. Draco came into the room with all his old confidence back, and sat right down in the middle of the room. The previously relaxed atmosphere suddenly changed, getting tense. Crabbe and Goyle, who had been sitting across the room struggling with their homework, felt the change and turned to see the source. When they saw Draco, they glared at him. He didn't respond, just got out a book and started to read.

 

Not taking this attitude lightly, Crabbe and Goyle got up and went over to stand menacingly over Draco. The blond boy looked up with a sneer on his face.

 

“Would you two _move_? You're in my light,” he said, every bit of his old arrogance poured into the words.

 

Crabbe and Goyle, for their part, blinked in confusion. He wasn't acting like they'd expected him to. But they recovered, probably deciding it was bravado, and cracked their knuckles menacingly.

 

“Are you two deaf as well as stupid? I said _move_!”

 

“Make us!”

 

Faster than the eye could track, Draco was standing with his wand out.

 

“I'd be glad to make you move, if you need the motivation. You've seen the sort of spells my father has taught me. I wonder which one I should use?”

 

The two large boys started to look nervous, even with their own wands out. They were no match for him where it came to magic. Not where legal magic was concerned, anyway.

 

“Let's see,” Draco said, appearing to be thinking. “Which spell would do the most damage, without being too much for Madam Pomfrey to fix? Decisions, decisions.”

 

As he mulled it over, Crabbe and Goyle looked nervously at each other.

 

“Bluff and bluster!” called Zabini, who was standing now too.

 

Draco lazily turned to consider the black boy.

 

“This is between Crabbe and Goyle and me, Zabini.”

 

“I can see what this is about, Draco,” Zabini said, sneering. “You've been a coward for months, and now suddenly you've grown a spine? You really expect us to believe it?”

 

“I admit, I forgot myself for a while. But I'm back now.”

 

“Oh, so you're done kissing Potter's arse and you're back to being the good little pureblood, is that what we're to believe?”

 

“Not exactly. I still think Potter is right. 'Pureblood' is just another word for 'inbred.' If we keep going the way we've been going, where we're going to go is extinct. As distasteful as it may seem, it's either breed with Muggles or die out forever. Or worse, become insane and powerless from inbreeding. I hope it hasn't escaped your notice that one of the most powerful wizards alive today, Dumbledore, is a half-blood? I don't know how I feel about Dumbledore, but I do know he's more powerful even than the Dark Lord was at his height. That much is undeniable.

 

“Then, too, look at Granger. Muggle-born, she and Potter – another half-blood – are the top of our class in everything. That's proof right there that purity of blood doesn't mean a damned thing.”

 

“You dare to say these things so brazenly, in Slytherin? What would Salazar Slytherin say?”

 

“Who cares? He lived a thousand years ago. In his time, his feelings were perfectly justified. But we've been dying out slowly ever since then. And if you hadn't noticed, we've been able to keep ourselves secret for centuries.”

 

“You're only saying this because you've been going to those Muggle lover meetings,” Zabini said hotly.

 

“I've been learning about Muggles, yes. True things, not just the idiotic drivel our parents have taught us. Muggles aren't stupid, they're just as smart as wizards are. And probably more clever, because they have to be, not having magic to do everything for them. It would be stupid to deny it, if for no other reason than 'know thy enemy.' Did you know they have bombs that can destroy entire cities in a flash of light? They do. And maybe your grandparents have told you about the bombs that fell during Grindelwald's war, that came from his German allies? They have poison gases, too. All that and more, without magic. They could kill us all overnight if they wanted to, but they don't even know we exist.

 

“There's even more. The things they know, if we knew those things too, we could expand our powers. Did you know they discovered the secrets of heredity? If we knew what they knew, we could find what makes someone a wizard, and use that knowledge to make sure there would never be squibs ever again, by turning squibs into wizards and witches. Think of that, no more squibs! We could potentially increase our numbers to match those of the Muggles.”

 

“Rubbish!”

 

“How would you know? Have you ever  _met_ a Muggle? Have you ever read any of their writings? Any of their science books? Besides which, you already use Muggle technology. Phonograph players are Muggle technology. The Hogwarts Express is magically modified Muggle steam engine technology. Wizarding Wireless was inspired by Muggle radio technology. And there's so much more there to explore. They can send moving pictures and sound across the world in real time. They can send letters and other communications around the globe in the blink of an eye. They're even making mechanical automatons to do difficult work for them! Not to mention, if we knew the secrets of their science of physics, we could make huge strides in alchemy.”

 

Crabbe and Goyle had had enough, it seemed. They grunted, and turned as one to clobber Draco, but he turned his wand on them and hit them with some sort of hex that had them both on the ground, moaning.

 

“The Dark Lord was brought down by the sacrifice of a Muggle-born witch for her half-blood child. He was arrogant and foolish. He slaughtered anyone who disagreed with him. In a time when we should be doing our best to preserve every wizarding life and working on a way to prevent our world's extinction, he murdered people by the scores and threatened to bring our whole world crashing down in flaming ruins.

 

“You're scared of the Muggles. I don't blame you. I'm scared, too. But pretending that we can go out and subjugate them when they outnumber us twenty to one or more is a fool's errand. What we need to do is embrace all wizardkind, or at least stop trying to kill or oppress one another, and use the knowledge of the Muggles and Muggle-borns to save our civilization from extinction. And if that means we align ourselves with Potter and Dumbledore, then that's what we do. You don't have to like them; Merlin knows I don't know if I like Dumbledore or not.”

 

He paused a moment, as if gathering strength for something, before continuing again.

 

“Voldemort is dead,” he said, waiting for the horrified gasps to stop before continuing. “Or at least near-dead and powerless. And even if he weren't, he was insane, arrogant, and power-mad. He used a blood purity stance to manipulate people into following him, but in the end his power came from fear. Fear of dying, or fear of loved ones dying, or worse things. But he would have brought us to extinction even faster than we were already going, if he hadn't been stopped. So will blood purity madness, if we let it.”

 

With a final sneer, Draco put his wand back and sat down, going back to his reading. It was a testament to the power of his speech that nobody spoke, not even Zabini, who quietly undid the hexes Draco had cast on Crabbe and Goyle before returning to his dorm room.

 

Antigone and Angela blinked, and shared looks with one another and with Danzia. They hadn't been expecting anything like  _that_ . They'd have to tell Harry and the others about it later.

 

~

 

“Malfoy did _what_?” Ron asked, dumbfounded, the following Monday afternoon when Antigone found the three of them at lunch to tell them about it.

 

“Yeah, great big amazing speech, right out of nowhere. You should've seen it. And I think it might have had an impact. Not sure how much of one, but I know Pansy Parkinson was giving Draco interesting looks the rest of the night and into the morning, almost like she wanted to fawn over him, but was hesitating, maybe wondering if it was too soon.”

 

“So he's not running from Crabbe and Goyle anymore?”

 

“Nope. They're avoiding him now. I don't know if or when those three will get back together again, but at least he's earned their grudging respect for now. And the respect of the rest of Slytherin House.”

 

“Even Zabini?”

 

“Even Zabini. A lot of them still think he's mad for associating with you, and even madder for saying You-Know-Who's name, but respect is respect.”

 

“It could be useful if he  _does_ manage to sway more people in Slytherin,” Harry said between bites. “That's not why I became friends with him, but it would certainly be a plus.”

 

Hermione finished her food then and said goodbye quickly before running off for the library.

 

“What's she in such a hurry for?” Antigone asked.

 

“We've been researching cases of animals charged with being too dangerous to let live, trying to find cases where they won their case, for Hagrid.”

 

“Oh damn, I should help with that, too.”

 

“You lot are in fifth year, aren't you? O.W.L. year. You need all the time to study.”

 

“Oh yeah, good point, Harry. It's just I wish I could do something for Hagrid.”

 

“I understand that.”

 

“So Harry,” Ron said, “you made any progress on finding out how Hermione is being in two places at once?”

 

“Nope. What about you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Ah, Hermione is in multiple places at once, is she?” Antigone asked with a smirk.

 

“What, do you know something about that?”

 

“If I did, I couldn't say anything.”

 

“Whadda ya mean? You're our friend, aren't you?”

 

“And so is Hermione.”

 

“Yeah, but she's a stickler for rules.”

 

“Well this is one rule I'm not going to break, Ron. You two are going to have to either figure it out yourselves, or live forever in suspense.”

 

“I suppose you're taking multiple classes at the same time too, are you?”

 

“Nope. But I know someone who did, once. It was too much for her. She had to reduce her workload.”

 

“From what I've seen of Hermione,” Harry said, “she should do the same thing. Maybe you can talk to her about it.”

 

“I'm not even supposed to know about it myself, and the person I know it from isn't in school anymore.”

 

“What, and that stops you from talking to her about it?”

 

“Well... maybe, maybe not. I'll think about it. Anyway, wouldn't it be more fun to work it out for yourself?”

 

“I've had fun, and that's not it,” Ron said.

 

“Whatever. Anyway, I'm gonna go find Angela now. You two have fun with your little side project.”

 

“See ya!”

 

“You too, Harry.”

 

~

 

They had a MAC meeting on Wednesday after dinner, but not many people were there. The fifth years were studying more, two of the Quidditch teams were practicing a lot in preparation for an upcoming match, and it was after dinner in the middle of the week. But Draco was there, as were Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They tried talking with Draco about his little speech, but he wasn't cooperating.

 

“I'm very annoyed that Antigone and her friends told you about that,” he said. “What happens in Slytherin is supposed to stay in Slytherin.”

 

“So you weren't going to tell us?”

 

Draco looked put out, and didn't respond.

 

“I think he wanted to be the one to tell us, actually,” guessed Hermione.

 

“Astute as ever, Hermione,” Draco said. “Yes, that's the real reason I'm miffed. But there's an element of truth in what I said before, too. She really shouldn't have told anyone outside of the House.”

 

“She only told us. It's not like she blabbed to the whole school. I don't think most people know, to be honest. They know _something_ went down, because you're back to something resembling your old cocky self, but I don't think they know any specifics.”

 

“Good, that's how it  _ should _ be.”

 

“You don't want others to know you're on my side? And how much so?”

 

“I go to MAC meetings. If that hasn't told the rest of the school where I stand, nothing will.”

 

“Fair point.”

 

“So, what are we doing tonight, with so few of us?”

 

“Not a lot. Maybe a little literature talk. Have you read any of the books I gave you for Christmas?” Harry asked Draco.

 

“Yes. I finished '1984' a couple days ago. I hope You-Know-Who never reads it, it might give him some nasty ideas.”

 

“What, you're not gonna say his name again?” Ron asked.

 

“I said his name  _once_ , for effect. I don't like saying it, though, so I'm going to continue to refer to him either as You-Know-Who or the Dark Lord.”

 

“You could call him Tom. That's his proper name, after all. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

 

“There's a lot of Toms.”

 

“Yes. That's kind of the point of calling him Tom. Makes him more human. Makes him common. He doesn't like being common, or human.”

 

“I'll think about it. But most people won't know who I mean when I say Tom.”

 

“Good point.”

 

They went back to talking about Muggle literature then, spending a couple hours discussing “1984” before it was time to start getting going.

 

Harry whispered something into Draco's ear quickly as Ron and Hermione got ready to go.

 

“We'll just make sure we haven't left a mess, okay? See you in a few minutes.”

 

“What? Oh okay. But if you and Draco want to discuss something privately, Harry, you can just tell us, we won't mind.”

 

“Speak for yourself, 'Mione. What're you gonna talk about with him but not with us?”

 

“Black,” he said.

 

“Oh god, not that again. Fine, have your little discussion. Cummon, 'Mione.”

 

But she was already gone.

 

“Oy, did she vanish again or just leave?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“What are you two on about?”

 

“Hermione has some way of being in two places at once,” Ron said. “Antigone knows how she's doing it, but won't tell. And we haven't had any luck figuring it out, even with doing experiments to help.”

 

“Yeah, all we know so far is she remains solid in every class we have with her.”

 

“Interesting. Can I help you with that?”

 

“Sure. I'll catch you up on it after we have our other chat.”

 

“If that was a hint, don't worry, I got it. See ya, mate.”

 

“See you, Ron.”

 

Ron left the room and closed the door behind him. Harry cast privacy spells just in case anyone was eavesdropping.

 

“ _Is_ this about Black?” Draco asked at last.

 

“Yes, in fact it is. What if I told you I had evidence that Sirius Black was innocent?”

 

“I'd be curious what  _kind_ of evidence you thought you had.”

 

“He and I have met, and talked, on several occasions.”

 

Draco's eyes went wide. “And he didn't kill you?”

 

“Didn't even threaten me. And he could have killed me any number of times without my even knowing there was a threat. But he didn't.”

 

“Well, that's certainly interesting. I don't know if it counts as evidence, per se. He could have some reason to keep you alive, still. Like trying to get information out of you.”

 

“What kind of information?”

 

“Like the Dark Lord's whereabouts.”

 

“Voldemort's barely come up in any of our conversations. Mostly we've talked about how to prove his innocence. He came here to Hogwarts because one of the people he went to prison for killing is still alive. Faked his own death, in fact, and framed Sirius for the deaths of those Muggles.”

 

“You'd better start from the beginning, Harry.”

 

Harry sighed, and once more recounted the whole tale from the start.

 

“You told Lovegood before me?” Draco said when he was done, sounding offended.

 

“She and I have been friends longer than you and I have.”

 

“Well, I suppose that's true. But you haven't even told Ron and Hermione.”

 

“Yeah, well, they both think he's guilty. Luna is open-minded, and you're open to the possibility of him being innocent.”

 

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense. So, he and this Pettigrew were both animagi? Or 'are,' I guess I should say.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And Professor Lupin is a werewolf? And Dumbledore knows?”

 

“The whole staff do. Lupin was bitten as a small child, only got to go to Hogwarts at all thanks to Dumbledore.”

 

Draco's face was contorted in disgust and fear. When he saw Harry's face, he forced his face to look normal.

 

“Sorry, Harry. It's just... a  _werewolf_ ? As a teacher? If too many students find out, that won't go well for him. How many know?”

 

“No idea. I know, and Hermione and Ron know. Now you, too. But I don't know if anyone else knows. I haven't even asked Antigone and the others.”

 

“What? Why not? Honestly, it was a dangerous risk telling me. I still have a lot of powerful prejudices against werewolves, I'm not sure how I'm going to manage in Lupin's classes now, to be honest. I'll try very hard to act normally, but I can't guarantee anything. Antigone and her friends probably wouldn't have been a risk, why haven't you told them yet?”

 

“I... I don't know. I mean, I only told you because I wanted your help clearing Sirius's name, if you're up to it.”

 

“And I am. I'm curious about this; if he's innocent, I want to know how. I want proof. And if he's guilty after all, you really should have backup, so it works either way. But you really should tell Antigone and the other girls about Lupin, too. They may already know, as you pointed out. And you told Ron and Hermione. Come to that, I'm surprised Ron didn't freak out in class. Werewolf fear is one of those nearly universal things in the wizarding world.”

 

“Yeah, well, I think Lupin was fighting against Voldemort with Dumbledore and the Weasleys, so I think they knew him already, which would help.”

 

“I suppose so. Anyway, I don't know what I can do to help with this Black conundrum, but I'll think about it. I suppose you've considered Dumbledore?”

 

“Yeah. I can't be sure he'll listen.”

 

Draco scoffed. Literally scoffed. “Are you kidding me? Dumbledore is a trusting soul, even I know that much. Black was unhinged when he was arrested, and didn't get a trial, either. He probably didn't get a chance to tell his side of the story. Not that he would have been believed, either. Veritaserum was highly experimental at best back then. I'm not sure when it came into common use at the Ministry, but he'd likely been in Azkaban  _years_ before then.”

 

“Yeah, probably.”

 

“Anyway, go to Dumbledore. He's got a soft spot for you. He'll believe you.”

 

“I guess so. But I'm going to tell Lupin first, tomorrow. Then maybe he and I can go together to Dumbledore. I only worry that Pettigrew will run for it.”

 

“I doubt that. Where was he earlier today?”

 

“Ron left him in our dorm.”

 

“Well unless he left the dorm room and overheard this conversation, which is unlikely given the privacy spells you used, he shouldn't have any reason to be worried. And even if he does do a runner, Dumbledore can always use veritaserum to get the truth out of all of you. If you believe the truth of Black's innocence, it should at least give Dumbledore reason to use veritaserum on Black, too.”

 

“Okay, that sounds reasonable. Thank you for this talk, Draco.”

 

“You're welcome, Harry.”

 

~

 

At dinner on Thursday evening, Harry stopped by the Slytherin table to talk with Antigone and set up a time to talk Friday with her, Angela, and Danzia, because he intended to at least try to figure out if they knew about Lupin already. Antigone told him that as soon as she found where Danzia had wandered off to, she would tell her.

 

After dinner, Luna met Harry outside the DADA classroom to be there for him in his talk with Lupin. Harry took out the Marauder's Map after saying hi to Luna, so he could look for Pettigrew. Since Ron had decided to take Scabbers with him to dinner tonight, he was relatively easy to find, being right in the same spot as Ron on the map.

 

Harry put the Map in his pocket without wiping it first, and knocked.

 

“Come in, Harry.”

 

Harry opened the door and went in, Luna following behind.

 

“Ah, Miss Lovegood, did you want something too?”

 

“I'm here to help Harry with something. But if you'd be willing, I wouldn't mind learning the Patronus Charm either.”

 

“I suppose I could take on one other student. But what is it you're here to help Harry with?”

 

Harry looked at Luna for support. She smiled at him and nodded. He nodded back, and took out the Marauder's Map, setting it on the desk and pointing at Pettigrew.

 

“What do you make of this, Professor?”

 

Lupin's eyes went wide.

 

“How did you get this map, Harry? It's very--- wait, _what_?” he snatched the map up and stared at it in disbelief. “What? How? What?”

 

“I thought Peter Pettigrew died, Professor,” Harry said. “But according to this map, he's---”

 

“Harry,” Lupin said, interrupting, “does your friend Ron Weasley happen to own a pet rat?”

 

“Yes, but it appears that the rat is in fact an Animagus,” Harry said.

 

Lupin looked up at Harry in surprise. “How did you---no nevermind, I don't even know what to ask at this point. Or rather, where to begin asking. Wait, no... on second thought, how did you know Peter is supposed to be dead?”

 

“Well I don't wish to say how I got the map, because it might incriminate friends of mine. And as to the story of Peter, Draco Malfoy told me.”

 

Lupin's eyes scanned the rest of the Map, and then stopped suddenly. Harry guessed by the look in his eyes that he had found Sirius on the Map.

 

“Did you find Sirius on the Map, too, then?”

 

“You knew Sirius was on the school grounds?”

 

“Er, yes. I might as well tell you everything.”

 

“That can wait. We need to go to the Headmaster at once. Damn, he's in the Great Hall. As is Peter. If Peter's alive, it means he faked his death, and I can't think of any good reason why he would do that, so I don't know how to get Dumbledore's attention without attracting Peter's attention as well.”

 

“What about Netty?” Luna asked. “She and Harry are friends, and she's one of the Hogwarts elves. She might know a way to get Dumbledore's attention covertly.”

 

“Good thinking, Luna. What do you think, Professor?”

 

“Hmm... yes, go ahead, Harry.”

 

Harry nodded, and said firmly, “Netty?”

 

With a loud crack, Netty appeared in front of the three of them.

 

“Mister Harry Potter is wanting Netty for something, sir?”

 

“Yes. We need to get Professor Dumbledore's attention without drawing too much attention to the rest of the people in the Great Hall to the fact he's got a message. Do you know of any way to do that, Netty?”

 

“Hmm...” Netty said as she stood there thinking. “Well, there is being one way, sirs and miss. If a professor is to be making a fire-call to Dumbledore's office, he is being told magically of the incoming call, and will come to investigate.”

 

“Thank you, Netty. You've been a big help.”

 

“You is most welcome, Mister Harry Potter, sir. Is you needing anything else?”

 

“Not right now, Netty. You may go back to whatever you were doing.”

 

Netty smiled and bowed, then with a crack she disapparated.

 

“This way, into my office,” Lupin said.

 

They followed him to his office. As soon as they got in, he took a pinch of Floo powder from a pot and tossed it into the fire, then got down on his hands and knees to fire-call Dumbledore's office. He continued to wait there for nearly 10 minutes before they heard him talking again.

 

“Professor Lupin? What is it you need, that you couldn't come into the Great Hall to find me?”

 

“May we come through, Professor? I'd rather not discuss this over an open Floo connection.”

 

“'We'?” Dumbledore asked. “Who else is with you?”

 

“Mister Potter and Miss Lovegood are with me, sir.”

 

“Well do come on through, then, all three of you.”

 

One by one, they walked through the green flames, keeping the connection from closing by grabbing the cloak of the person ahead of them.

 

Once they were through and the fire returned to normal, Lupin started the discussion with Dumbledore.

 

“Professor Dumbledore, sir, there's something I have to tell you that is rather complex, but very important.”

 

“Well everyone, sit down, and you can begin the tale.”

 

Once they all took their seats, Lupin said, “Back when I was in school, Professor, my friends and I produced a rather clever magical artifact we called The Marauder's Map. It is a map that shows the inside and grounds of the castle, and everyone within it.”

 

He set it down on Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore picked it up and examined it.

 

“Ingenious! How ever did you manage to make this?”

 

“It's a very long and involved process, and I'd rather get to the point first, Professor, if that's okay by you?”

 

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore said, handing the Map back.

 

Harry, not knowing why Dumbledore hadn't noticed Pettigrew, looked over at the Map, and saw that Ron wasn't in the Great Hall anymore.

 

“Suffice it to say that among other things, the Map is tied into the school wards, and so always knows who everyone really is, and displays their true name.”

 

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. “Ah, that sounds the sort of thing the Marauders would have done, breaking into the ward room to make this remarkable Map possible.”

 

“Yes. Now let's see... where'd he go? Ah, here, in that corridor. Look, Headmaster.”

 

Dumbledore looked where on the Map Lupin had pointed. It was clear when Dumbledore saw Peter on the Map, because his eyes went wider than Harry had ever seen Dumbledore's eyes go before.

 

“Peter Pettigrew? But how?”

 

“That's what I'd like to know, too. But that has to be him, unless there's another rat animagus with the same name who happens to be hiding out as a rat in the school.”

 

“Peter Pettigrew, an animagus? What do you mean, Remus?”

 

Lupin sighed, and began – hesitantly, his face full of shame – to tell Dumbledore the whole story of how his friends had become unregistered animagi during school, and how he had violated Dumbledore's trust and gone running on the grounds with only a stag, a large dog, and a rat to keep him in check.

 

When that was done, Harry added in how he'd met Sirius Black, how they'd discussed all this, and were looking for a way to clear Sirius's name and imprison Pettigrew as the real traitor. Dumbledore even got Luna to talk, adding that she'd been around Shadow as well and despite having not met him as a human yet, still believed Harry and say that she was able to vouch for Sirius having had plenty of opportunity to hurt Harry without doing so.

 

“You were quite right that we need proof. The best proof will, of course, be to capture Pettigrew so he may be interrogated. And I think I know just how to begin.”

 

Without explaining first, Dumbledore cast a Patronus shaped like a phoenix, which immediately flew off out of the office. A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall came into the room.

 

“You called me, Headmaster?”

 

“Yes, Minerva. Sit down, this could take some time.”

 

~

 

Danzia was late to dinner that night, and barely got enough to eat before it was time to leave. She got up and left the Great Hall, almost running into Professor Trelawney.

 

“Oh sorry Professor,” she said.

 

“It's quite alright dear, you didn't hurt me. Are _you_ okay?”

 

“Yes, Professor. Actually I'm a little glad I ran into you. I had some questions about the last lesson I was hoping you could help me with.”

 

“Of course, my dear. Come, follow me. My inner eye tells me I shall need my books to answer your questions fully, and they are in the classroom, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Danzia said.

 

She followed the peculiar woman all the way up to the seventh-floor corridor and up the ladder into her weird classroom. Once there, they sat on poufs by one of the table as Trelawney perused the books to answer Danzia's questions.

 

When her questions were finished, she stood up to say good-bye and leave, but then a loud, harsh voice came from Trelawney.

 

_“It will happen tonight.”_

 

“What?” Danzia asked, astonished.

 

But Professor Trelawney didn’t seem to hear her. Her eyes started to roll. Danzia stood there in a panic. Trelawney looked as though she was about to have some sort of seizure. Danzia hesitated, thinking of running to the hospital wing — and then Professor Trelawney spoke again, in the same harsh voice, quite unlike her own:

 

_“The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight … the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant’s aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight … before midnight … the servant … will set out … to rejoin … his master. …”_

 

Professor Trelawney’s head fell forward onto her chest. She made a grunting sort of noise. Danzia stood there, staring at her. Then, quite suddenly, Professor Trelawney’s head snapped up again.

 

“Oh so sorry, my dear girl. The heat of the fireplace, you know. Must've dozed off.”

 

Danzia just kept staring at her.

 

“Is something the matter, dear?”

 

“You — you just told me that the — the Dark Lord’s going to rise again … that his servant’s going to go back to him!”

 

Professor Trelawney looked thoroughly startled.

 

“The Dark Lord? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? My dear girl, that’s hardly something to joke about. … Rise again, indeed —”

 

“But you just said it! You said the Dark Lord —”

 

“I think you must have dozed off too, dear!” said Professor Trelawney. “I would certainly not presume to predict anything quite as far-fetched as  _that_ ! Now run along before curfew is up.”

 

Danzia reluctantly left, wondering if she'd just heard a real prophecy or not. She decided she should tell the Headmaster or Professor Snape just in case. She thought about it, and decided it was better to tell Dumbledore. Snape wouldn't believe Trelawney making a real prophecy, she was sure of that. So Danzia went as fast as she dared down to Professor Dumbledore's office.

 

She didn't make it. Instead, she turned a corner and saw Crabbe and Goyle standing there, blocking her path.

 

“You!” Goyle shouted, pointing a finger at her. “You and your blood-traitor friends did it!”

 

“Did what, gorilla-boy?”

 

“Malfoy. He became a blood traitor because of you and Potter and your friends!”

 

“That's right,” Crabbe agreed, cracking his knuckles.

 

“I don't have time for this, it's almost curfew. Besides, Slytherins don't air our dirty laundry in public, remember?”

 

“I don't care right now. At least if we hold you up, you get in trouble, and that's better than nuffin'!”

 

“Seriously, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, are you really going to pick a fight now? I was actually on my way to the headmaster's office.”

 

“You ain't goin nowhere!”

 

Danzia pulled her wand out. “You two are third-years with the collective intelligence of limp lettuce, and I'm an exceptional fifth-year student who's been on massive scary adventures with Harry Potter twice, and lived to tell the tale. You don't scare me.”

 

The two boys, despite being dumb and huge, were surprisingly fast. They rushed her before she could get a spell off and soon the fight was on. Her wand rolled away out of reach, but she had older male cousins that hung out at her house so much that most of their neighbors thought she had half a dozen older brothers, and so she was no slouch when it came to brawling, either. Also, she didn't hesitate to fight dirty. Crabbe and Goyle were only using their fists, but Danzia was also biting, poking eyes, pulling hair, and anything else she could think of to disable her attackers.

 

In the end, though, she fell to a well-placed punch to the face, her world going black.

 

 

 

Endnote 1: I'm stopping the chapter here because I have a lot planned for the next bit, which would make it a VERY long chapter if I included that in this chapter, and you've all waited too long for this chapter already. I'll get on doing the next chapter and try to publish that one in a week or two.

 

Endnote 2: Sorry about the repeat of the letter in the last chapter. Didn't notice that until I was re-reading the last two chapters. Ugh. I've gotten so keen on my Many Face of Harry Potter fic that I've lost a lot of enthusiasm for this one. I'll try to work on that, balance the two out a bit more in my schedule. But chronic depression and a memory like a rusty sieve also contributes to the flaws and slow updating of this fic. Sorry about that. Maybe I'll counteract that by re-reading the entire fic (the 3rd year part anyway) before writing each chapter. It shouldn't slow things down any more than they're already going.

 


	8. Catching a Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything I say in this summary would probably spoil it.

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

 

**Chapter Eight: Catching A Rat**

 

McGongall was soon announcing to the whole school that there were concerns about a communicable disease among people's pets, and that everyone should bring their pets to the Great Hall at once for examination and possible quarantine. She and Hagrid made a good show of checking every pet brought them until they finally got to Ron's pet Scabbers, who of course was quarantined for showing signs of illness. It even made sense, given how ill Scabbers had been looking since getting back from Egypt. So Ron was none the wiser when Scabbers was put into a cage and carted off. He was, of course, very worried, and naturally McGonagall let him come with her as she took the rat into quarantine, so he could be with his beloved pet while they tried to make him better.

 

Which was, of course, how they got Ron and Scabbers securely into Dumbledore's office.

 

Ron watched in some confusion as Scabbers was transferred into an absurdly large cage for such a small animal. Once the cage was locked, McGonagall turned to Ron and spoke.

 

“Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry to say this, but we lured your rat here under false pretenses. We have very good reason to think he is not really a rat, but in fact an animagus.”

 

“You're mental! Sorry, Professor, but honestly, he's just a rat! Give him back!”

 

“A rat that's been alive for 12 years?” McGonagall asked pointedly.

 

“We... we just took really good care of him.”

 

“Mr. Weasley, even magical rats do not live for 12 years. Common garden rats only live about four years, and magical rats only live about six years. There is no way this rat is really a rat. And we have a harmless, painless way of revealing the truth. If he is really a rat, nothing will happen to him. You have my word on this.”

 

Ron sighed. “Fine, whatever. But I'm telling you you're wrong.”

 

“We shall see, Mr. Weasley, we shall see.”

 

Before anything else could happen, the fire in the grate turned green.

 

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, “here is Cornelius.”

 

A portly little man with rumpled grey hair and a lime-green bowler hat stepped out of the fire.

 

“What is this all about, Dumbledore?” he asked at once. “You called me on some urgent business and didn't even tell me why, and now... what is all this?” he asked, gesturing at the scene before him.

 

“Just remain silent, please, and watch, Minister,” Dumbledore said.

 

“Well alright then, I suppose. But I hope this doesn't take long, I'm rather busy at the Ministry, Dumbledore.”

 

“It will not take long.”

 

Dumbledore stepped forward and used a spell to hold Scabbers in place on the bottom of the cage. Then he and McGonagall both cast another spell on him at the same time. A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; his small gray form began twisting madly — Ron yelled. There was another blinding flash of light and then —

 

It was like watching a sped-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands.

 

He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again.

 

“Galloping gargoyles!” Fudge exclaimed. Ron, on the other hand, yelped in surprise and jumped back.

 

Harry, who had considered his luck and thought ahead, raised the camera he had borrowed from Colin and with several flashes, took several pictures of the man, making sure to get Fudge or Dumbledore or Ron in the pictures, to date the images as being from the present.

 

“Peter Pettigrew,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, as though pleased to run into an old acquaintance. “How very good to see you. You look quite well for someone who is supposedly dead.”

 

“D-Dumbledore! You have to help me! Sirius Black is trying to kill me!”

 

“That is rather interesting, Peter, seeing as he already spent 12 years in Azkaban for killing you.”

 

“He tried to kill me, but he failed! He got all those Muggles, but he missed me. I've been hiding all this time. I knew when he broke out he would try to finish the job!”

 

“You knew he would break out when nobody else had before, in Azkaban's entire history?” Dumbledore asked.

 

“Yes! He has dark powers I can only imagine! Powers taught him by the dark lord!”

 

“As amusing as it might be to listen to your taradiddles, Peter, I think it would be much more efficient if Minister Fudge were to first authorize the use of the veritaserum I asked him to bring.”

 

“What? Oh yes yes. Of course, Dumbledore,” Fudge said, pulling out a small bottle of what looked like water and handing it to Dumbledore.

 

“Open your mouth, please, Peter.”

 

Pettigrew stubbornly refused.

 

“Open your mouth or I shall open your mouth for you, and I will not be gentle.”

 

Pettigrew opened his mouth reluctantly, and Dumbledore put three drops into the man's mouth. His face then relaxed, his gaze unfocused. When Dumbledore and Fudge interrogated him, he answered all questions calmly, in a monotone. Aside from hesitating now and then, he showed no emotion. He confirmed everything that Sirius had told Harry, and everything Lupin had said as well. The whole time, Ron – standing beside Harry – stared at the man with disgust all over his face.

 

When the interrogation was over, Fudge said, “Well I'd better get back to the Ministry and summon the Aurors, Dumbledore. He'll have to go straight to Azkaban pending trial.”

 

“No need to summon the aurors, Cornelius. I have already done so. In fact, I believe that is them approaching my door right now.”

 

The door opened, and a broad-shouldered black man, bald and sporting a single gold hoop earring, came in next to a tough-looking wizard with very short, wiry grey hair.

 

“Ah, Aurors Shacklebolt and Dawlish, welcome,” Fudge said.

 

“Minister,” Shacklebolt said, nodding.

 

Then both men noticed Pettigrew. Dawlish blinked at the caged man, looking rather foolish. Shacklebolt looked almost as surprised as Dumbledore had before.

 

“Now that they're here and have seen the situation, Cornelius, can I trust you will be suspending the search for Sirius Black, now?”

 

“Oh no, Dumbledore, he's not been proven innocent yet. He'll need to be re-tried before he can be released, or at least Pettigrew will need to be found guilty first.”

 

“You mean he'll have to be _tried_ first, Minister, I assume?”

 

“What? No, I said re-tried, Dumbledore.”

 

“Yes, but you see, Mr. Black never received a trial in the first place. I will confess I rather forgot that myself, in all the excitement of those days, in addition to being a very old man.”

 

“Er, yes, he'll have to be given a trial, at any rate.”

 

“Excellent. And am I correct that you will, in the meantime, recall the dementors? Surely the aurors or the hit-wizards can bring in Black, now that it seems he might be a free man before long.”

 

“Yes, yes, I'll recall them. Auror Shacklebolt, how soon do you think we will be able to get the prisoner to Azkaban?”

 

“With the right messages to the right people, Minister, we can move him tonight. We'll have to take some precautions, of course. Anti-animagus spells, for one.”

 

“This cage was made precisely to keep the prisoner trapped, Kingsley,” Dumbledore said. “Now that he's been forced into his human form, the cage will keep him that way.”

 

“Good, good,” Fudge said. “Then I shall get to work on what needs to be done. See you again later, Dumbledore!”

 

With that, Fudge was going back through the green flames to, presumably, the Ministry of Magic.

 

As McGonagall led them out of Dumbledore's office, Ron turned to Harry. “I'm going to be sick. That man was sleeping in my bed with me for years! I think I need a mind healer.”

 

“I'll see what I can do about that, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said gently.

 

~

 

Danzia awoke to a dimly-lit Hospital Wing, in a great deal of pain. She checked herself over as best she could, and didn't seem to be bleeding, but it still hurt all over.

 

“Ah, Miss McCullough, you're awake. Good. I mended your cuts and bruises as best as I could, but those two beasts did quite a lot of damage. I mended many broken bones, but they'll still hurt until they heal the rest of the way, and I gave you some potions to stop the internal bleeding, but that takes time to heal as well. You'll be in the Hospital Wing for the rest of the night, possibly most of the morning as well.”

 

“How long was I out?”

 

“Only around an hour.”

 

“I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore!” she said. “It's urgent! I was on my way to talk with him when those two goons waylaid me.”

 

“I'm afraid that will have to wait. Professor Dumbledore is busy right now.”

 

“Can you just please go tell him to come talk with me? Tell him it's urgent!”

 

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Fine, I'll go tell him. But don't you dare move from where you are. You need to heal. If I find you've gotten out of bed, I'll confine you there for the next two days, understood?”

 

“I understand and agree, Madam Pomfrey.”

 

“Good. Now rest up if you can. I'll be back shortly.”

 

Danzia sighed and watched the matron leave the room. She waited, thinking of plans to get back at those two goons once she was well enough. Looking around the room, she was pleased to note that they were there, too, both asleep. She wondered how badly she'd hurt them, and if Madam Pomfrey would tell her if she asked.

 

She was in the middle of wondering if she could get away with hexing them in their sleep when the matron came back. Dumbledore came in behind her.

 

“Dumbledore! I was with Professor Trelawney earlier, and she went all rigid and started talking all harsh and growly, then when she went normal again, she thought I was mad when I told her what she'd said! I think it was a real prophecy!”

 

Dumbledore, who had looked merely curious before, suddenly looked alarmed. “What did she say?”

 

“She said that the servant of You-Know-Who was chained for 12 years, but he's going to break out and rejoin his master _tonight_! And that You-Know-Who will rise again, greater and more terrible than ever before!”

 

Dumbledore paled.

 

“Tonight? You're sure she said tonight?”

 

“She repeated it at least three times. Tonight, before midnight.”

 

“I must be going. Thank you for telling me this, Miss McCullough.”

 

Quicker than she thought such an old man could move, he turned around and left. She blinked in confusion, wondering if that meant he was going to prevent the prophecy from happening, or what?

 

“You need to rest, Miss McCullough. If you don't think you'll be able to, I can give you a sleep potion.”

 

“I... but what if the prophecy isn't stopped in time?”

 

“There's nothing you can do about it either way, Miss McCullough. You told the headmaster, he'll take care of it. There's nothing more you can do but sleep and recover from your injuries.”

 

“I... well, okay, fine.”

 

~

 

“Careful, Dawlish. Mind your step,” Kingsley Shacklebolt warned his partner.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I made _one_ misstep...”

 

“All it takes is one.”

 

“This cage was made by Dumbledore, I should hope it would take more than a single misstep to mess this up.”

 

Pettigrew, his hands and feet bound, his mouth gagged, was inside the large cage the two aurors were floating along with their wands. They were carefully making their way down to the gates of the castle so they could take Pettigrew to Azkaban. Just as they were passing Hagrid's hut, they heard a voice speak, a voice rough from long disuse.

 

“So you caught him at last,” Sirius said. “That means I can safely be taken in as well, pending his conviction?”

 

Kingsley – whose wand hand had shot to point the wand at Sirius, returned back to Pettigrew's cage once he processed that Sirius wasn't likely a threat.

 

“Yes, that's correct. Does this mean you're coming willingly?”

 

“Yes. But maybe you should tie my hands anyway, for appearances.”

 

“And confiscate your wand.”

 

Sirius barked once with wry amusement. “What wand? You lot still have my only wand, and I never stole one after escaping. I could never deprive another person of their only defense. Well, unless it was a Death Eater, I suppose. The lot of them can burn in Hell.”

 

“You mean you avoided capture this long without a wand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Astonishing,” said Dawlish.

 

“I heard you wanted to kill this man. How were you going to accomplish that without a wand?”

 

“Oh, didn't they tell you? I'm an unregistered animagus, too. My form is a large black dog.”

 

“Maybe you should get in the cage, then?”

 

Sirius eyed Pettigrew with hungry anger.

 

“Just don't kill him. You kill him, it's back to Azkaban indefinitely for you.”

 

“Don't worry, I won't kill him.”

 

Shacklebolt unlocked the door to the cage, two wands on the door threateningly. Sirius approached the cage, but suddenly the temperature in the air dropped rapidly, an all too familiar sensation.

 

“DEMENTORS!” he shouted. “Quick, let me in!”

 

But he didn't make it to the door. The dementors being so near made him collapse to his knees.

 

“BACK, YOU LOT!” Kingsley shouted at the dementors. “We're aurors! We're taking these prisoners into custody! You're not needed here!”

 

But the dementors didn't slow down, as they were blind. All they knew was their prey was ahead of them, and they were hungry. As they kept advancing, the levitation spells on the cage went out, the cage crashing to the ground. Pettigrew jumped out of the cage as it fell, turning into a rat to flee his bonds, and running off.

 

“NO!” Sirius shouted. “YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY AGAIN!”

 

He tried to transform into a dog, but years in Azkaban had weakened him, and the dementors were too near. Instead, he fell onto his back on the ground, clutched his head, and wailed. There were just so many of them, over 100 of the foul non-beings, and his head was full of dark and depressing thoughts.

 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” two voices said simultaneously from a ways off.

 

Almost immediately after, a bright shining phoenix made of white light and a similar shining stag charged the dementors down and fought them off. The phoenix scratched at the faces of the monsters, and the stag attacked them with its antlers.

 

With many of the dementors fleeing, Kingsley was able to conjure a shining lynx patronus. Dawlish, for his part, could only conjure shining vapor. But with three patronuses in the fight, the rest of the dementors fled, leaving only the memory of their presence behind.

 

“Where's Peter? Where'd he go?” Sirius shouted, turning into a large black dog and sniffing madly to try to find him.

 

Dumbledore cast a non-verbal spell, but judging by his expression, it didn't yield any results. Sirius, though, began barking and running full tilt for the gates of the school. The three adults and Harry ran to catch up, and saw a rat running just in time to see it turn back into a human and disapparate with a loud _crack!_

 

Sirius howled and barked and growled, then turned back to a human and sat there with his head in his hands.

 

“He got away again! Damn him! Why didn't you two stun him when he was in the cage?” he demanded of the aurors.

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Black,” said Dawlish, “but I seem to recall you didn't stun him either.”

 

“I DON'T HAVE A WAND, YOU NITWIT!”

 

“Sirius, my dear boy, do calm down. It is disappointing, yes, even infuriating. And terrifying, if I'm honest; a Death Eater with nothing to lose and everything to gain, loose to look for his master. But it is not a total loss. Minister Fudge and two highly regarded aurors saw him alive and well, along with myself, Minerva, Harry, and Ronald Weasley, and many of us heard his confession under veritaserum. Their memories shall be enough to get you freed, Sirius.”

 

“Also,” Harry added, holding up Colin's camera, “I took pictures. At least one of the pictures has Ron in it, too, so there's proof right there.”

 

“Ah yes, that is correct. Excellent show of forethought, Harry.”

 

“Yes,” said Kingsley. “And if I can convince Fudge of it, we'll put you in Saint Mungo's instead of the prison or any of the holding cells at the Ministry. You shouldn't have to go back to Azkaban, between Pettigrew being exposed and the fact you turned yourself in.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. “And I shall be making sure that everyone at the Ministry knows you were never given a trial, Sirius. All of these things should make the Ministry very contrite. But in the meantime, aurors Shacklebolt and Dawlish, would it be too much to ask for Sirius to go to the Hospital Wing for treatment?”

 

“I'm not sure that's a good idea, Professor Dumbledore,” Shacklebolt said. “Until the Prophet can declare him innocent, he shouldn't be at the school hospital wing, it might panic the students and parents. We can take him to St. Mungo's, though, as I said. We'll just need to take him in to the Ministry first for permission.”

 

“That sounds reasonable. What do you think, Sirius?”

 

“Fine by me. But, er... can I say goodbye to my godson Harry first?”

 

“Harry? Harry Potter?” Dawlish asked, blinking foolishly, then turning to look at Harry.

 

“Yes, I don't see why not, as long as Harry is okay with it.” Dumbledore said.

 

Harry re-sheathed his wand and nodded. “I'd like that.”

 

Sirius came over to Harry and hugged him. Harry relaxed into the hug. When they pulled apart again, Sirius smiled at Harry.

 

“Thank you, Harry, for helping me out. It didn't go well, but that's nobody's fault, really. We should have thought to stun him. Ah well. With any luck, I'll be released before the summer is over so I can get my life back on track. And, well, if I do... Once my name’s cleared … if you wanted a … a different home …”

 

Some sort of explosion took place in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

 

“Yes! Yes, I would! I mean, they've been a lot better with the spells in place, and with Netty around, but honestly, yes, I'd rather--”

 

“I'm afraid I must slightly burst your bubble, as it were, Harry. There are powerful protective spells around your home, that also protect you elsewhere. You need to live there for at least two weeks out of the year to recharge those protections. But if Sirius is freed and finds somewhere acceptable for two people to live before the end of that two weeks, then you may stay the rest of the summer with him.”

 

“Oh. That's not nearly as bad as I feared. But, er... what if that doesn't happen by then? I know it's February, that's only about five months to have a trial and get a job and find a flat. And I read that trials can sometimes take a long time. At least, they do in the Muggle world.”

 

“Don't worry about that, Harry,” Sirius said. “Now that my parents and my brother are dead, and my cousin Bellatrix is in Azkaban, I inherit the Black family fortune. Including their house. Which is going to need a professional cleaning job after all these years, but that's fine, I'll have more than enough money to afford it.”

 

“Well that's a relief,” Harry said.

 

“Okay, this is taking enough time already,” Dawlish said. “I've got reports to file, and we've got to start the manhunt for Pettigrew. Which, by the way, it would help if you send us some copies of those photos, Mr. Potter. Anyway, say your goodbyes and let's go.”

 

Harry and Sirius hugged again, said their goodbyes, and Sirius went with the two aurors. They took him by the arms and side-along disapparated together with him.

 

“Well, Harry, time to return to the school. You need to get back to your common room, and I need to send an owl to make sure Cornelius is actually going to recall the dementors.”

 

Harry nodded, and the two of them headed back toward the castle together.

 

~

 

Since Harry had already set up a time to talk with the Slytherin girls about Lupin, he used that time to bring Draco in as well. He'd been up late last night telling Ron and Hermione, and was getting a bit tired of telling the story already, but Ron and Hermione would be there too, so they could help tell the story. Danzia would be there too, having gotten out of the hospital wing before breakfast, so she'd be able to tell them about her fight with Crabbe and Goyle.

 

“Yeah,” she said with a grin on her face after they asked her about it, “they won't forget that fight in a hurry. I was in the hospital wing with a bunch of broken bones and internal bleeding, but from what I was able to cajole out of Madam Pomfrey, they were hurt just as bad.”

 

“Wow,” Ron said, his eyes wide. “You took on Crabbe and Goyle both, at the same time, and hurt them as bad as they hurt you? Impressive.”

 

“Yeah, when you've got as many older male cousins as I do, it's second nature. Sometimes I pick fights with them just because I like a good tussle. It's a pity Hogwarts doesn't have a wrestling team. I know it's not the same as a proper brawl, but it'd be better than nothing. Hey, speaking of fighting, whatever happened to Dueling Club? Did they stop doing that this year?”

 

“I don't know,” Harry admitted. “I'd forgotten all about it, with everything that's been going on. I'll look into it. Apart from the first one last year, the rest went pretty well.”

 

“Yeah,” Antigone said. “Oh hey, with Sirius possibly getting his name cleared, and the dementors back in Azkaban, does that mean you get to go to Hogsmeade?”

 

“I don't know. I doubt I could get the Dursleys to sign the form, and there's only one Hogsmeade weekend left in the year anyway.”

 

“What about Sirius?” asked Danzia. “Couldn't he sign it? Might take a few days to get through the Ministry, as they're probably watching his mail pretty closely, but might be worth looking into.”

 

“That's a great idea, Danzia! I'll send a letter to him later and ask.”

 

“Good. Now that I've told you about my fight with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, I can tell you about the prophecy I heard from Trelawney.”

 

She proceeded to tell them all about it, in detail, because she had been surprised that Dumbledore had believed her so quickly, and knew she couldn't count on the same thing happening here, too.

 

“And Dumbledore believed you when you told him?”

 

“Yes. I was flabbergasted, to be honest. I just gave him the basic information about it, and all he asked about it was if I was sure she said 'tonight.' I told him that she repeated it twice, seemed to want to make sure whoever heard it knew it was happening before midnight.”

 

“Yes,” drawled Draco, “but Pettigrew wasn't exactly chained, was he? He was with Weasley by choice. He could have left whenever he wanted, even after finding out Black was loose. After all, a rat could easily escape Hogwarts even if Black was looking for him.”

 

“True, but Sirius is an animagus too, and he knew Pettigrew's scent. He could have hung around the entrance and kept lookout there if he wanted.”

 

“There were dementors by the gates, Harry,” Draco said, “at least until this morning, there were. He would've been mad to go so close to them. Plus, there are other ways into and out of the castle. Through the Forbidden Forest, for instance.”

 

“With acromantulas and centaurs and who knows what else in there? Possible, I suppose, but difficult and risky.”

 

“Black would've killed him, from the sound of it, if he'd caught up to the rat first. Maybe Pettigrew was hoping Black had given up.”

 

Danzia snorted with disbelief. “Not likely; clearly Pettigrew was smart enough to figure out that Sirius escaping not long after Pettigrew had his picture in the paper was no coincidence, I doubt he'd think Sirius would just give up. More likely he thought Sirius got killed by something on his way here. Like, eaten by an acromantula. Was he there with us when we were in there?”

 

Ron shook his head. “No, but he probably overheard us talking about it. Merlin, I still can't believe it. I might have nightmares for months.”

 

“Yeah. Just one more reason why there's an animagus registry: preventing creepy stuff like that,” Antigone said.

 

Everyone nodded fervently.

 

“But going back to Crabbe and Goyle, Danzia, should we hex them for you?”

 

“Oh no, I want to take care of it,” she said, something dangerous creeping into her voice.

 

“R-right. Okay, mate,” Ron said.

 

After that, the conversation mostly went back to MAC topics and other various things.

 

~

 

As it turned out, when he asked McGonagall, the Dueling Club had been continuing. Somehow, he and his friends had all missed the notices about it. He supposed that made sense, with the worry about Sirius Black being on the loose. Now that this was no longer an issue, he informed all his friends about this, and they all started going to it, even Luna. McGonagall was pleased by this; there hadn't been many people in the club during the first half of the year, and Harry and his friends made the club's numbers more than double.

 

Harry got another nasty letter from Draco's father after having sent a reply back saying that it really wasn't Lucius's business who his son was friends with. Harry had also pointed out that Voldemort was a classic serial killer but with magic, that he had no regard for the lives of other human beings and likely thought of everyone other than himself with no more regard than Lucius and many other purebloods thought of house elves. Harry's letter had also gone on to compare Voldemort to Adolf Hitler or Stalin at length, explaining how millions of Jews, homosexuals, transgender people, black people, political prisoners, and others had died at the cruel hands of the Nazis, and that Voldemort's reign would be similar, and that even if Draco went back to being a blood bigot, as soon as Mr. Malfoy made a big enough mistake, Voldemort would turn on him and treat him and his family with similar disdain and cruelty; perhaps a little better than others, given his blood status, but not by much. Harry suspected Mr. Malfoy knew this already, given his fear of Draco's association with Harry, but he'd thought it might be helpful to remind the man of this in a way that might nudge him over to defecting.

 

Mr. Malfoy had not responded well to this. His reply was quite polite and formal, but even Harry could practically feel the rage and malice oozing from the words. Among other things, he implied that he would withdraw Draco from Hogwarts and send him to Durmstrang instead if Harry didn't end the friendship. He also made a great many veiled threats, some of them so subtle that Harry only found out about them after Draco pointed them out to him.

 

Harry wrote back saying that even if he complied, Draco had made friends with many others, and while he was perfectly welcome to try to threaten Antigone, Danzia, Ron, and Hermione, among others that Harry insinuated existed but did not explicitly name, he wouldn't have a lot of luck convincing anyone, informed him that Draco had already started to regain some of his lost position in Slytherin, and that Lucius would have to be prepared for Harry, Sirius, Remus, and many of Harry's friends to hire solicitors to charge him with harassment and making threats. After this, Harry received only one more letter from Lucius, politely apologizing for losing his temper, claiming he had not intended any threats to anyone, and wishing him a pleasant rest of the school year, in a tone that even Harry knew implied Lucius hoped it would be Harry's last few months alive.

 

Harry and Draco shared these letters with their friends, Dumbledore, and Sirius, of course. Everyone was properly angry at Lucius, and most of them were amused by Harry's replies. Even Draco was amused, once he got past the feeling of panic anticipating his father's reactions.

 

Sirius did well in St. Mungo's, where the Ministry was keeping him pending the trial, which is where he likely would've been anyway, so bad was his dementor exposure and “trauma shock” as the Healers called it. Harry made a note to take Sirius to a Muggle psychologist for some help, as wizarding mind healers were not very good in his opinion.

 

His godfather's solicitor was pushing for a speedy trial, since it had already been 12 years, and they had enough evidence to release him, now that Harry's photos of Pettigrew had been dispersed and even printed in the _Daily Prophet_. A reporter named Rita Skeeter, who apparently rarely had anything good to say about anyone, had surprisingly been very complimentary of Sirius in her articles about the Pettigrew issue, but mostly – it seemed – as a way to make the Ministry look bad. But Harry only cared about the moment in the trial when he got to hear his godfather declared officially innocent of all charges.

 

~

 

Harry was at dinner on April first when he got another letter from Sirius. He opened it and read it at the table:

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_According to my solicitor, who has hired some people to help me get my life on track again as soon as I can after the trial assuming I get found not guilty, my parents' house is almost cleaned out now. I think they just have the drawing room left to get before they declare it habitable by humans. I'm still in St. Mungo's, recovering and awaiting the trial. They're trying some potions and charms to fix my memory, which has seriously degraded after twelve years in that horrible place. I don't think I'm nearly as bad as they think, memory wise. Anyway, the healers at St. Mungo's are trying to fix my memory, which has seriously degraded after... wait, what was I saying again?_

 

_Ha! Just kidding, pup. Gotcha! My mind is sharp as ever, I exaggerated things. The Healers_ _**are** _ _mildly concerned about memory issues, but not too much so. Honestly, I think half the damage they're worried about came from my childhood; my parents were pretty horrible, and my cousins weren't all that great, either. I'm still not sure what to do with Kreacher, my parents' old house elf. I don't want him around, but I'm afraid setting him free will kill him from shock. Though that might be best for him, honestly. Except that he might be too tough to die._

 

_Kreacher hasn't taken to the cleaning well. He keeps trying to sneak things away, and he cried for six hours straight after they took my mother's portrait down. She had the blasted thing stuck to the wall with a sticking charm so powerful they had to remove and replace that section of the wall! When they're done, I'm going to decorate the whole place in Griffindor colors just to spite the lot of them._

 

_Come to it, I might ask Dumbledore if I can sell Kreacher to Hogwarts. Not sure what use he'd be, but the other elves could keep an eye on him, keep him out of trouble. Yeah, I think I'll do that._

 

_My solicitor is working on speeding up the criminal trial, but it's difficult because the event in question was so long ago. If that goes well, we plan on suing the Ministry for wrongful imprisonment, and holding me for 12 years without a trial. She's pretty sure they'll settle out of court rather than go to the expense of a civil trial. We're planning on asking for my Auror job back as part of the settlement, with the stipulation I don't have to work anywhere near dementors or Azkaban. As much as I'm angry at the Ministry, once I'm recovered enough, I want to go back to work, especially as Dumbledore thinks Pettigrew is going to help Voldemort get a new body. Only problem is that my mentor, Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody retired after the war was wrapped up, so I won't get to see him around. Oh well, I'll manage. But that'll be brilliant, won't it: Sirius Black, long thought an infamous mass murderer, working as an Auror. James would laugh his arse off at that!_

 

_I have included a signed copy of the permission slip for going to Hogsmeade. I understand there's one last Hogsmeade visit the weekend of June fifth. If I'm a free man by then, I'll be there to show you the sights. Assuming the trial goes in my favor, I get out of the hospital in time to be there for you, and my house should be re-furnished by then, so I'll be living there._

 

_Let me know how you want your bedroom decorated, or if you want to do it yourself, or whatever. I don't know what you like and don't like. I suppose Griffindor colors might work, since you're in Griffindor and you see those colors all the time, but I don't know, that's also a very good reason why you might want something different for your room. Let me know, okay?_

 

_I may be getting rid of Kreacher, but I do need to get another house elf, because I can't cook to save my life. I can manage toast and scrambled eggs, but that's about it. Hey, you mentioned you freed an elf once, do you know if he needs or wants any work? He can remain free if he wants, I'll even pay him if he likes. Though now I think about it, I'm not sure how you'd even go about finding a freed house elf, since he's not bound to you in any way that I'm aware of, unless your getting him freed is good enough to call him. Try calling him sometime, and if it doesn't work, I'll add it to the list of things to have my solicitor look into._

 

_Anyway, pup, I think that's about it. I'll keep you updated. See you on the last Hogsmeade weekend!_

 

_Love from,_

_Sirius_

 

_PS = Almost forgot, I've started paying my solicitor to help defend Buckbeak for Hagrid. It's the least I can do for him for keeping my motorbike safe all these years._

 

Harry made a mental note to try calling Dobby later, and put the letter away in his bag.

 

Later, in his dorm before writing a reply to Sirius, he tried it, tentatively.

 

“Dobby?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Doby the house elf!”

 

Still nothing.

 

“Dobby!”

 

Strike three. He shrugged, and reached for his quill, but another thought struck him.

 

“Netty?”

 

With a CRACK!, Netty appeared.

 

“Harry Potter is wanting something? How can Netty help?”

 

“You remember Dobby, right?”

 

She huffed disapprovingly. “I is remembering Dobby, sir. Why?”

 

“You wouldn't happen to be able to contact him, would you?”

 

Netty raised an eyebrow. “Why is you wanting Dobby, sir? He is making much nuisance of himself last school year. And now he is being free, and getting up to such hijinks, sir, as is unbecoming of a house-elf, from what Netty is hearing, sir.”

 

“So you've heard things about him since he was freed?”

 

“Yes, sir. Dobby is keeps trying to find work, and is finding no masters willing to hire him on. I is even hearing he is... he is wanting...” here, her face crinkled up like there was a skunk in the room, “ _paying_ , sir.” She shuddered with revulsion at the thought.

 

“Well try to see things from his point of view. For years, possibly longer, he was being abused by his masters. He doesn't want to risk being bound to abusive masters again.”

 

“ _Sixty_ years, sir. Dobby is being the Malfoy's house elf _sixty_ years before he is being freed, sir.”

 

“He's over _sixty_ years old?”

 

“Yes, sir. He is being sixty years old when he is being freed.”

 

“Wow. And I thought I had it bad living alone with the Dursleys for 10 years.”

 

Netty looked suddenly thoughtful at these words. Then, her expression softening, she sighed. “Netty is supposing it makes sense Dobby is wanting p-- is wanting fr--, er... is not willing to risk being bound again.” She looked shrewdly at Harry. “Does Mister Potter has an idea for where Dobby can finds work, sir?”

 

“Yes. My godfather and his house elf don't get along at all with each other, he's going to see about selling that elf to Hogwarts and getting a new elf, but he doesn't really agree with house elf slavery. He heard about Dobby from a letter I sent him, and is willing to pay Dobby. So, er... is there any way to contact Dobby?”

 

“Yes, sir. Bound house elves is higher up than freed elves, sir, so unless Dobby is being in the middle of being bound again, he is ought to come when Netty is calling him, sir.”

 

“Really? Why is that?”

 

“It is being so the masters can track down a freed elf if they is wanting to hire them, sir.”

 

“Oh, that makes sense. So, er... would you please call Dobby for me, Netty?”

 

She sighed again. “Yes, Harry Potter sir, Netty is doing that for you, even though Netty does not has to do that for students, and only because it is for _you_. DOBBY!”

 

A second later, there was another CRACK!, and Dobby appeared, looking bedraggled and bewildered.

 

“Dobby!” Harry said. “You look like you've been through heck!”

 

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby cried out excitedly, and started to jump toward him to hug him, but Netty grabbed him by the nape of his neck and kept him back.

 

“Dobby! You is filthy! You is living out in the outside, isn't you?”

 

Dobby nodded. “Yes. Dobby is wanting paying for his work, and is not finding any work.”

 

“Netty is not surprised at all. House elves is not working for pay.”

 

“Dobby is!” Dobby said proudly, folding his arms.

 

“And look where it is got you, Dobby! What is you been eating lately?”

 

“Dobby is finding food left out in odd, colored dishes outside Muggle houses. Don't worry, Harry Potter sir! Dobby is being very good at hiding himself from Muggles.”

 

“Dobby?” Harry asked carefully. “Did any of these colorful dishes happen to have a paw print shape on them in black? Maybe with a name?”

 

“Dobby is not knowing about a name, Harry Potter sir, as Dobby is not knowing how to read, but yes, some of them is having paw print shapes on them.”

 

“Pet food! You've been surviving all this time on cat food and/or dog food?!”

 

Dobby shrugged. “If Harry Potter is thinking that is what it is being, then Harry Potter is probably being right. But now you is mentioning it, Dobby is sometimes running from angry animals, and some of them is confined so they cannot give chase.”

 

Harry sighed, and wiped his face with his hands. “Dobby, my godfather is looking for a new house elf, and he's willing to pay. He just has to wait until after his trial, assuming he gets declared free as he should be. He knows you want to remain free, too, and he's fine with that. In fact, he prefers a free elf.”

 

Dobby stared incredulously at Harry. “Harry Potter is surely joking with Dobby?”

 

“No, I'm being serious. He really does. He inherited his parents' elf, but the two of them hate each other.”

 

“He is having a house elf he is not getting along with? May Dobby ask who is this elf?”

 

“An elf named Kreacher.”

 

Dobby's eyes went wide with terror, but sensing danger, Harry interrupted before Dobby could speak.

 

“It's a little complicated, but my godfather was falsely accused of being a murderer and traitor working for Vol—er, the dark lord. He's currently in St. Mungo's awaiting his trial, but the real traitor was caught but then escaped again, it was Peter Pettigrew! A whole bunch of people saw he was alive and heard him confess under veritaseum, so once he's been released from Azkaban after being given a trial and found innocent, he'll be able to hire you. He's a Black, but he was in Griffindor, and he hates blood purists and other bigots.”

 

“Is Harry Potter sir meaning Sirius Black?”

 

Harry turned; the question had come from Netty, not Dobby.

 

“Yes,” Harry said.

 

Her eyes went wide, but with astonishment, not fear. “He is being innocent this whole time? He is not killing all those people?”

 

“Exactly. The real killer was Peter Pettigrew, faking his own death. Everyone thought it was Sirius, because Pettigrew framed him, and Sirius was thought to have been my parents' Secret Keeper. But it was really Peter Pettigrew. You can verify it with Dumbledore if you'd like, Netty.”

 

“Okay, sir,” she said.

 

She disappeared with a CRACK!

 

“Dobby believes Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is not needing confirmation. Is Harry Potter's godfather being a nice man?”

 

“Well, he's willing to let you stay free and to pay you. And he's been nice to me when I've been around him this year. Don't ask, it's too much to get into now.”

 

“Okay, Harry Potter sir.”

 

“I think Dumbledore would also vouch for him. He can be a bit of a prankster, Sirius can, but it's all in good fun.”

 

“That is all being very good, Harry Potter sir. But, er... is it being good for Dobby to meet Sirius Black and make his own judgment before he is being Dobby's new master?”

 

“I don't see why not. I'll add it to the letter.”

 

“Thank you, Harry Potter sir. Dobby wants you to know he is not looking a gift Abraxan horse in the mouth, sir, but Dobby is wanting to make sure he is being with good masters, not like his old ones.”

 

Before Dobby could move, Harry grabbed him by the arm to stop him from punishing himself for speaking ill of the Malfoys.

 

“Thank you, Harry Potter sir.”

 

“Er... can I ask you another question, Dobby?”

 

“Anything, sir!”

 

“Why do you call me by my full name so often?”

 

“Oh, that. Well, Dobby's last master, er... he is wanting Dobby to say his whole name. Dobby is not knowing why, he is just obeying.”

 

“Ah, that explains it. Well you don't need to do that for me or Sirius. Netty just calls me 'sir' most of the time. Honestly, you don't even need to do that much, but, well... you do whatever you're most comfortable with, Dobby.”

 

Dobby saluted Harry. “Dobby understands, sir. Dobby is trying to not say sir's name so much. You is so considerate of Dobby's feelings, Dobby is repaying your kindness by being considerate of sir's feelings, too!”

 

Harry smiled at Dobby.

 

“Er... sir?”

 

“Yes, Dobby?”

 

“Now we is on that subject, Dobby is curious of something. Is there being a reason why sir never looks Dobby in the eye? Dobby is not normally noticing such a thing in wizards, for Dobby is being familiar with being overlooked and looked down on, but Harry Potter is such a great and kind wizard... is Dobby doing something that displeases Harry Potter?”

 

“No no, Dobby, I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding. You haven't done anything wrong. It's just... looking in people's eyes is difficult for me. I do the same with other wizards and witches, and with Muggles. It's... it's not painful, per se, but there's a very strong pressure to look away, when I make eye contact. It's very uncomfortable to me. Like it's too intimate to do on a whim, or to do very often.”

 

Dobby nodded. “Dobby understands, sir. Dobby feels the same way whenever he is making eye contact with wizards by mistake. It is also different, though, Dobby thinks. Because wizards is your equal, but isn't Dobby's.”

 

Harry, feeling bad for Dobby, crouched down to Dobby's level and looked him straight in his large tennis-ball shaped green eyes, holding it as long as he could before turning away. Dobby was so touched by the gesture that he broke down crying, just in time for Netty to return.

 

“Dobby, what is you blubbering for?” she asked, but in a playful tone.

 

“It's too complicated to go into now, Netty. Maybe Dobby can tell you. I take it you got confirmation?”

 

“Yes, it is confirmed, sir.”

 

“Good to hear. Now, if it's allowed, would you help get Dobby to somewhere he can bathe. Oh, and, uh...” he took a pair of old, worn trousers out of his trunk and shrunk them to Dobby's size. “Er... I guess you couldn't take these for Dobby to cover his nakedness with, without being freed--”

 

“Begging sir's pardon, but sir is a student. House elves is to take orders from students, unless we think them unsafe or they breaks rules, but students is not our masters. Only the headmaster or deputy headmistress is being able to free us. We can takes clothes from you without problems, sir. Just don't makes a habit of giving clothes directly to us, sir, it is being offensive to try to free us.”

 

“Oh, okay. Well this is for Dobby. He won't want to wear a tea towel, I'm thinking.”

 

“Netty is thinking you is right,” she said, taking the shrunken trousers from him. “Come, Dobby, you is more dirt than elf right now.”

 

~

 

Sirius was awoken from his nap in Saint Mungo's by a knock on his door. Once he got his wits about him, he said, “Who is it?”

 

The door opened a crack. “It's Healer Davison. Your solicitor, Ms. Pennyroyal, is here to talk with you, Mr. Black.”

 

Sirius looked at the clock on the wall.

 

“At nearly midnight? I was sleeping.”

 

“She says it's urgent.”

 

“Fine, let her in then.”

 

The healer moved away, and soon his solicitor came in, carrying a briefcase that he knew had copies of every single file she might need for her work contained in its infinite depths. From his position on the bed, she seemed tall, her chestnut-brown hair and pleasant face looking down at him in the bed, but he knew she was short enough that in his youth he could have picked her up with one arm and carried her over his shoulder. She was also a bit plump. Lily had shown him and James a Disney cartoon called Sleeping Beauty once, and Ms. Pennyroyal looked like the short, fat fairy Merryweather from that movie, complete with the pleasant face. Despite that, and despite her normally pleasant personality, he knew her well enough by now that he'd sooner wrestle a manticore than try to pick her up without permission. And she looked grim and professional at the moment, projecting the sort of intensity she normally reserved for the courtroom.

 

“Mr. Black, you're awake. Good.”

 

“I am now that you woke me up. What's so important you're here at almost midnight to tell me about it?”

 

“One moment.”

 

She turned and cast locking spells and anti-eavesdropping spells on the door and around the room, before turning back to him.

 

“The cleaners found something very dangerous in your parents' house that I felt you should know about immediately. I have already informed the Ministry and the Aurors. I will also be contacting Albus Dumbledore about it, with your permission. I feel it necessary, though, given the severity of the situation, and I believe you'll agree it was necessary, once I brief you about it.”

 

“I know my parents had a lot of dangerous stuff, but what could be so dangerous that the Ministry, the Aurors, and _Dumbledore_ all need to know about it?”

 

“Since you were an Auror, and hope to be one again, I can tell you. Do you know what a horcrux is?”

 

Sirius went as pale as a corpse at the sound of the word.

 

“A-- a WHAT? A _horcrux_? WHAT? WHY? HOW? Shit... it's not my mother's, is it?”

 

“We don't yet know for sure who it belongs to, but given it's been cast into a locket that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, we have a shrewd idea about the identity of the owner.”

 

“Voldemort?” he asked. He was intrigued to note she was one of the few people he'd ever met who didn't flinch at the name.

 

“Exactly. We don't know how he found it, but I understand from Mr. Dumbledore that Riddle was related to Slytherin via his mother, Merope Gaunt.”

 

“What was it doing in my parents' house?”

 

“That is an excellent question, Mr. Black, and one the Ministry is looking into. They've taken your elf, Kreacher, in for questioning. But obviously it's going to be impossible to get anything out of him without your help.”

 

“Kreacher? Well I suppose that makes sense, he was there. I don't know what he could possibly tell you, though.”

 

“We know he knows _something._ When we tried to take the locket away, he began crying very loudly, and banging his head on the floor.”

 

“Shall I call him here?”

 

“Yes. That is one reason I wanted to speak with you.”

 

“Kreacher!” Sirius called.

 

With a CRACK!, a very dirty, old, and wrinkly elf wearing rags appeared, crying and banging his head on the floor. His bulbous, snout-like nose was bleeding.

 

“Kreacher! Stop hurting yourself!”

 

Immediately, the elf froze. Then he relaxed a little before snapping his head around to glare at Sirius.

 

“The filthy blood traitor is back then, is he? Should've known he was the reason my mistress's house has been invaded and looted by common criminals!”

 

“It's called _cleaning_ , Kreacher, perhaps you've heard of it?”

 

Muttering loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to pretend he couldn't be heard, Kreacher said, “What Mistress would say if she knew he was back, she always hated him, the foul little beast.”

 

“You will stop muttering right now and tell us why you were so upset at the sight of Slytherin's locket.”

 

“Kreacher does not know what you mean, Master. Kreacher knows of no 'Slytherin's locket,' Master.”

 

“The locket they took out of the house earlier, that made you start crying and beating your head on the floor when it was taken away.”

 

“It was gold, and had a shape like an S on it,” Ms. Pennyroyal added.

 

“Yes, what she said. Well? Answer me!”

 

“Kreacher was upset because the family treasures were being looted, Master, that is all.”

 

“Tell me the truth or we will destroy the locket!”

 

Kreacher stared impassively at Sirius. “Whatever Master feels is best.”

 

“Okay, different approach. Kreacher, tell me the truth of how that locket came to be in the house to begin with.”

 

Kreacher jerked, and frowned, fighting the geas he was under as a bound house elf, but he failed. He shuddered again, and began to cry.

 

“M-m-master R-regulus!” Kreacher sobbed. “He b-brought it! He gave it to Kreacher!”

 

Sirius's face grew tight with anger. “Regulus!” he spat. “I should've known! He always-- wait, what? Just a moment... Kreacher, did you say Regulus gave you that locket?”

 

“Y-y-yes!”

 

“When did he give it to you? Tell me.”

 

“M-master Regulus gave it t-to K-Kreacher, many years ago!”

 

Sirius and his solicitor looked at each other in confusion for a moment.

 

“Tell me why he gave it to you. What did he want you to do with it?”

 

“He t-told Kreacher to d-destroy it, but Kreacher failed! Nothing would scratch it! Kreacher tired EVERYTHING!” The elf began sobbing into his hands with renewed vigor.

 

Sirius softened. “It's not your fault, Kreacher. Nothing short of basilisk venom or fiendfyre would have hurt that locket. My idiot brother clearly had no idea he'd given you an impossible task.”

 

Kreacher stopped crying, sniffing a bit, and looked up at Sirius. “Kreacher couldn't have destroyed it without basilisk venom or fiendfyre?”

 

“That's right, Kreacher. It's an immensely powerful dark object. House elf magic is no match for it. Very little _is_ a match for it.”

 

Kreacher wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

 

“Kreacher, tell us the whole story, from the beginning. Help us understand what my brother was doing in his final days.”

 

The old elf blinked, and actually smiled for a moment, before looking very sad again.

 

It took nearly a half an hour to get the whole story out of Kreacher, for he kept bursting into tears again. What they heard was horrifying. Kreacher had been forced by Voldemort to test the defenses of a secret chamber that was no doubt the hiding place for the horcrux, and had nearly died. He'd only come back because Regulus had ordered him beforehand to come back.

 

Kreacher and Regulus had always been very close. Upon finding out what Voldemort had done to his best friend, Regulus worked out that the thing placed in the cup at the center of the chamber had been a horcrux. Regulus turned on his master, took Kreacher with him back to the chamber, drank the horrible potion that protected the locket himself rather than hurt his best friend, gave the locket to Kreacher, ordered him to go home and destroy it, then got pulled into the water by inferi.

 

“Idiot. Why didn't he go to Dumbledore with this information? Damn fool got himself killed for nothing. Bloody locket went from one hiding place to another, and all this time we could've been free of that monster if Regulus had just taken steps to get this locket and the knowledge of what it is to Dumbledore!”

 

“Well don't worry, Mr. Black, we know now. We can take this information to Dumbledore. He'll have some way to destroy it.”

 

“Yes,” Sirius said, looking over at Kreacher, who was once more in tears. “Then we can avenge Regulus Black and all the others who died because of Voldemort.”

 

Ms. Pennyroyal nodded. “I'll head over there now.”

 

“Bring me some pastries when you come back in the morning, if you'd be so kind. The food around here is horrible.”

 

She laughed. “Will do, Mr. Black, will do.”

 

Once she left, Sirius got out of bed and knelt down beside Kreacher.

 

“Come here, Kreacher. Listen, I... I'm sorry for how I treated you growing up. I hated living there, I hated my parents' pureblood mania. But now I see I was wrong to hate you, you were as you were because of how my parents were. You and Regulus... you know, he really _was_ an idiot. Not his fault, though. I'm glad you were there for him, Kreacher; he needed you. And thanks to his love for you, he finally pulled his head out of his arse and did something noble and brave for once, even if it was also stupid and got him killed. He's a hero, for trying to stop that madman.”

 

This was... a bit much. Kreacher stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief and pride for his lost master, then burst into fresh wails of tears. But he let Sirius hold him like a man comforting a frightened child, crying into Sirius's robes.

 

 

 

 **Endnote 1:** So there we are. I wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this, whether Sirius would be free or a fugitive still, but I'm a sucker for Sirius being free, so that's going to happen now, since I found a way to prove his innocence and still have Pettigrew out there to find Voldemort.

 

Also, the whole Kreacher/Sirius thing was unplanned. But once the locket was discovered, things took an unexpected twist and I went with it. I probably should've seen this coming once I decided Sirius was going to have his parents' old place professionally cleaned out.

 

I was also going to end book 3 here, but there's enough material for at least one more chapter before moving on to book 4.

 

 **Endnote 2:** I'm torn about something. I would be astonished if canon Luna _weren't_ on the autism spectrum, she shows so many signs of it, but there's already two autistic characters in this fic, so I don't know if I should say Luna is one, too. Granted, autistic people are, at least in my own experience, more common than most people think they are, and here in Portland, Oregon I am friends with at least two or three other autistic people. We tend to find our own kind quickly, since non-autistic people tend to be difficult for autistic people to get along with.(1) Britain is large, a lot larget than Portland, and Hogwarts appears to include students from Ireland and Scotland and Wales as well, so even if the wizarding community is small, three autistic Hogwarts students isn't out of the realm of possibility. Especially when Harry is a half-blood, Hermione is a Muggleborn, and I'm not sure about Luna. *Goes to look it up.* Okay, the wiki doesn't know either; it says “pure-blood or half-blood.”

 

Anyway, if I do end up going that route, it'll be a slower reveal. I'll also have to think about how both the Lovegoods would feel about getting a diagnosis from a Muggle doctor. Just off the top of my head, it occurs to me that Xeno might be the kind to not want a label for Luna, and Luna might agree with that. If anyone has any thoughts on Luna being on the autism spectrum or how she or her dad might react to the suggestion of being diagnosed, let me know. Please be courteous, as I don't have much tolerance for jerks in my inbox, and will block people if I feel they're being too rude.

 

(1) = Non-autistics tend to be at least as bothersome to autistic people as autistic people seem to bother most non-autistics. I do have plenty of non-autistic friends, so it's not a given, just a tendency.

 

 


	9. The Trial of Sirius Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter in the third year of the autistic Potter saga ends with the trial of Sirius Black, Buckbeak's hearing, and the end of another school year. The fourth year will continue in "Autistic Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire."

**Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.**

**Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."**

 

 **Note:** I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made. Not by me, anyway.

 

 **Note 2:** There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though. And the more this deviates from canon, the less that will happen. But some descriptions and things like that are too good to skip or try to reword.

 

 **Note 3:** Between this being long, my having had to rewrite parts of it, and the fact I had a cold for two weeks starting on the ninth, that's why this has taken so long to get done.

 

Part of the reason for the rewrite is funny, even; I was so caught up in writing one night, despite being tired, that I actually got to a point where I couldn't remember where the prosecuting attorney was going with his argument. It's a pity, too; the PA was a bit of an evil badass, not wanting to give up despite overwhelming evidence of Sirius's innocence, but he only got as far as he did because I was too tired to realize he was fighting a losing battle.

 

Also, I apologize if this is based a lot off American TV trials, I've never been part of an actual trial, except for being present at the sentencing part. Almost was a witness for one, but they never called me up, so I don't even have any real trials, American _or_ British, from which to gain experience.

 

 

**Chapter Nine: The Trial of Sirius Black**

 

With a slight pop, a short, fat, and pleasant looking woman in navy blue robes appeared at the gates of Hogwarts. In the same instant she appeared, she shouted “ _Expecto patronum_!” and a wolverine made of silver light came barreling out of her wand, ready to tear into the dementors she'd been expecting were there. When it found there weren't any, it turned its head both ways as though to make sure, then bared its teeth in frustration and winked out.

 

“So Fudge finally recalled them, did he? Good,” she said to nobody.

 

The gates of the school were, of course, closed, as it was past midnight. She re-conjured her wolverine patronus and sent it up to the school with a message, then stood there humming a jaunty tune as she waited.

 

A few minutes later, she spotted a familiar face coming down to open the gates.

 

“Lilith Pennyroyal? What are you doing here this late?”

 

“Professor Sprout, I'm here on urgent business. I must speak with Dumbledore at once.”

 

“Well alright. But you know you could've flooed into his office.”

 

“It's not _that_ urgent. Plus, that would be quite rude to do without being invited first.”

 

“True,” Professor Sprout said, opening the gates. “Well come on in, Lilith.”

 

She did, and as soon as the gates were closed behind her, the two women walked together up to the castle.

 

“So, Professor Sprout, how's my old House doing?”

 

“Oh, we're getting on as usual. How are you? I hear a lot about you, you know. It's always amusing to hear tales about you, people either love you or they're terrified of you. Or both, now that I think of it.”

 

Ms. Pennyroyal laughed. “I guess I'm doing Hufflepuff proud, then?”

 

“Quite. But you didn't answer my question.”

 

“Business is good. I keep getting angry letters from the old pureblood law firms, but it's not  _my_ fault if they're losing business to a law firm owned and operated by a half-blood and a Muggleborn.”

 

“How  _is_ Valerie, anyway?”

 

“Quite well. She and her wife are expecting their first child soon. Eight months pregnant, and Valerie has hardly slowed down at all at work.”

 

Professor Sprout chuckled. “Oh yes, that sounds like Valerie alright.”

 

“Well,” Ms. Pennyroyal said when they got to Dumbledore's office, “it was fun catching up, Professor, but I have business to attend to.”

 

“Of course. Hope to see you later.”

 

Lilith turned to the gargoyle as Professor Sprout left and said, “Lilith Pennyroyal with urgent business for Dumbledore. Tell him it concerns You-Know-Who.”

 

The gargoyle nodded, but didn't otherwise move. She waited, examining her nails as she did. Soon enough, the gargoyle moved aside, and she got on the moving staircase, but climbed up it as it moved because she was too impatient to just stand there.

 

“Come in,” said a tired voice as she knocked on the door. She opened it and saw the headmaster, still old, wearing a nightgown and cap with a fuzzy puffball on the tip, which drooped comically. Both were white with little printed blue stars.

 

“You said you had urgent business with me, Lilith?”

 

Lilith considered Dumbledore. It was hard to read the man, but she'd had years of practice. She'd been the foremost troublemaker in this school until James Potter and Sirius Black had arrived, after all.

 

“Is this room secure from eavesdroppers?”

 

Dumbledore waved his wand a bit, then said, “It is now.”

 

“Good. You might want to sit down.”

 

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. This was just like her, after all; telling him to sit down in his own office, herself sitting in a chair in front of his desk without being invited to do so first.

 

“I'll get right to brass tacks, Dumbledore. The cleaners Sirius Black hired to make his parents' house habitable by humans again found what we believe is one of Voldemort's horcruxes.”

 

Dumbledore looked both scared and excited, to Lilith's expert eye.

 

“You found one of them?”

 

She blanched, her jaw dropping. “Wuh- _One_ of them?! He has more than one?”

 

Dumbledore chuckled darkly. “Lilith Pennyroyal, speechless. It's a shame it took something so grave to achieve the effect. Yes, he had more than one of them. I take it you know occlumency?”

 

Lilith recovered her wits and snorted derisively. “Of course I do. What kind of solicitor would I be if I didn't?”

 

“A very poor one, of course, which I know from your reputation that you are not. With that in mind, then, I can say I believe he made at least three horcruxes.”

 

“ _Three_ ?!”

 

“Or more. I knew, when no body was left behind at Godric's Hollow, that there had to be at least one horcrux, but when I found one of them, and found that it had been weaponized, I grew very disturbed.”

 

“A  _weaponized_ horcrux?! What did it do?”

 

“It was a diary, which tricked a young girl into giving enough of herself to it that it began to possess her. It almost killed her and resurrected itself before it was destroyed by young Harry Potter and his friends.”

 

“ _Children_ destroyed a horcrux?!”

 

“Yes. They should really not have been down there, but they figured out what the monster was and, well... they  _did_ have adult supervision, after a fashion. They took Gilderoy Lockhart down there with them.”

 

She snorted derisively again. “ _That_ idiot? They must've taken him down as a human shield, then.”

 

“Perhaps. Anyway, back to business. What makes you think the horcrux that was found is one of Voldemort's?”

 

“It's a large gold locket with an S on it. Slytherin's locket. I heard Tom Riddle, AKA Voldemort, was related to Slytherin via his mother.”

 

“Correct. I would ask where you heard that, but I imagine it's confidential client information?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where is the horcrux currently?”

 

“At the Ministry, awaiting confirmation you have a means of destroying a horcrux.”

 

“I do. During the fight with the Tom Riddle from the diary horcrux, Harry Potter and his friend Antigone both got swords from the Founders in the Chamber of Secrets, from the Sorting Hat I sent them, once I realized where they'd gone. Since I couldn't get into the Chamber, I sent Fawkes.”

 

Lilith remembered. She'd seen Dumbledore's phoenix often enough before.

 

“They killed the basilisk, and later I was able to go down into the Chamber and strip the basilisk's body for parts, the money going into the school's coffers.”

 

“How did you get down there? I heard only a parseltongue could get in there.”

 

“Luckily, some words in parseltongue have been saved inside of runes over the centuries. Once I knew where the entrance of the Chamber was, it was simple enough to use a Speaking Stone programmed with the parseltongue word for 'open' on the entrance and subsequent doors.”

 

“Okay. But what's the relevance of stripping the basilisk for parts?”

 

“Ah yes, that. I saved some basilisk venom for my own use. Some of which I poured into the sword of Godric Griffindor. Being goblin-made, it was not destroyed. In fact, it imbibed the basilisk venom, and is now a useful weapon against horcruxes. I did not do the same to Slytherin's sword, not knowing enough about its history to risk attempting it.”

 

“Slytherin had a sword too? Doesn't really sound like him.”

 

“Oh, of _course_ it was like him. The Founders were alive at a time of war between the magical and Muggle worlds. A flaming sword would have made an excellent weapon against superstitious Muggles in a time when Christianity was spreading across Europe. Slytherin himself may not have needed the weapon, but he could have given it to a student who was less proficient at magic as he was, or else as a back-up weapon if his wand was lost.”

 

“Interesting. Anyway, should I call for the horcrux to be brought to your office to be destroyed?”

 

“Yes, we should get to that as soon as possible.”

 

She took a small mirror out of a pouch on a belt around her robes and spoke into it.

 

“Valerie, send the Auror over with the locket.”

 

“Right away, Lilith.”

 

A minute later, green flames appeared in the fireplace, and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped through, holding a locked box in his hands.

 

“Bring it here, Kingsley. Yes, set it on the desk. I shall get the sword now.”

 

Another minute or two later, they had the locket laying on a steel plate to protect the desk. Dumbledore had secured the locket with a spell and stood ready with the sword in hand. Shacklebolt had the Speaking Stone in his hand, ready to activate it.

 

“Now!”

 

Shacklebolt activated the Speaking Stone, and it hissed in parseltongue. Responding, the locket opened up, a small and ugly eye inside. Mist came out of the locket and formed into the appearance of a 14-year-old girl with blond hair and eyes the same distinctive blue as Albus Dumbledore's.

 

“Albus! You--”

 

Dumbledore interrupted the apparition by stabbing the eye with the sword. The horcrux screamed, the apparition and the mist it was made of disappeared, and all that was left of the locket was a smoking ruin.

 

“Was that--”

 

“It is done,” Dumbledore said tersely. “Kingsley, dispose of its remains for me. Don't let Voldemort find out it has been destroyed. I believe there to be at least one more horcrux we haven't yet... that we haven't destroyed yet.”

 

Kingsley nodded, and used his wand to hover the remains of the locket back into the lock box.

 

“Lilith, you are dismissed. You may leave by the Floo once Kingsley has left.”

 

Without waiting for her response, he put the sword of Griffindor back into place, his whole body tense. He was upset about the apparition, clearly, and she wasn't going to ask, so she waited. Soon, she was exiting via the green flames.

 

“Pennyroyal and Reece law firm,” she said, disappearing in a whirl of green flame.

 

~

 

Monday afternoon after classes, Harry, Antigone, Ron, and Hermione went down to Hagrid's hut to see how he was doing. Harry was surprised Hermione was coming, as she looked exhausted and dead on her feet, and she'd been stressing out more and more with each passing week since January, but she'd insisted on coming along. When they got there, they knocked on the door, and they could hear Fang barking, but Hagrid didn't answer.

 

“Hagrid! Open up! It's Harry!”

 

They knocked and shouted a few more times before a voice from behind them startled them.

 

“I'm o'er here, yeh lot.”

 

“Hagrid! We...”

 

Harry had trailed off because Hagrid wasn't dressed in his normal garb, nor was he wearing his horrible hairy suit and ugly yellow tie. He was in proper formal robes, which were black robes under a long navy blue suit jacket with silver buttons. He was also wearing a black tie made of what looked like silk, and large black shiny leather shoes with white spats. But oddest of all, his hair was sleekly slicked back like Draco's, but Hagrid's normal salt-and-pepper color. Also, his beard was trimmed up to look nice and even.

 

“Wha ch'yall starin at, yeh lot?”

 

“ _You,_ Hagrid!” Harry said.

 

“How...? Why...?” said Antigone. “Why're you dressed like you're going to a formal ball?”

 

“Sirius got me a new s'licitor. Yeh shoulda seen the look on 'er face when she saw me in meh other suit, looked like she couldn' decide whether ter laugh or cry. She took me shoppin' today before the hearin' fer Buckbeak. Wanted me ter look smart fer the hearin'. Tailored suit an' robes, this is.”

 

“Your hair, Hagrid! How...?”

 

“Sleakeazy's Hair Potion. She musta bought out the whole stock they 'ad. Ne'er seen a clerk so pleased as that before.”

 

He grinned, and a bit of his hair popped up from its potion prison. However much they'd used on him, it was clearly losing its effectiveness.

 

“She tried me on some Muggle hair gel first, seein' as I'm, well, my hair's resistant ter magic, but it didn' work. Musta used a whole gallon of it on meh hair, an' it jes kept poppin' back up, so Sleakeazy's it was.”

 

“Well, you look nice. Very nice.” Hermione said.

 

“Amen to that. You clean up well, Hagrid.”

 

“Thanks, Antigone. Anyway, glad yer all here, I got great news!”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Buckbeak got off! Took Ms. Pennyroyal all afternoon, arguin' with the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures, makin' lots o' arguments, citin' loads o' old cases relevant ter the case, collected eyewitness accounts, too, of the day it happened. Exhaustin', it was, and I was scared an' nervous even with the Calming Draughts she gave me, but we got through it, and Beaky gets ter live!”

 

“Congratulations, Hagrid!”

 

“That's amazing!”

 

“Yay!”

 

Hagrid sniffed, wiping a tear from his eyes with a white lace hankerchief. “Thanks, yeh lot. I dunno what I'da done without Sirius gettin' me the help o' Ms. Pennyroyal. Anyway, yeh wait out here, I gotta go change inter somethin' more comfy before I let yeh in.”

 

They nodded, and he went inside, with cries of “Back, Fang! Back!”

 

Harry turned to the others.

 

“Eyewitness accounts? So that's what that thing with the memories was, last Friday.”

 

“What thing with the memories?” asked Antigone.

 

“This short, fat woman with a strangely familiar face came around the school last Friday collecting memories about the Buckbeak incident with her wand. She pulled something white and thread-like out of our heads, and put them in these glass vials she had.”

 

“Oh yeah, I recognize that now,” Antigone said. “My dad told me about that, it's a way of collecting evidence. There's a spell that can make copies of memories so they're viewable by other people in something called a pensieve. It's pretty cool magic.”

 

“That _does_ sound pretty cool. I bet those pensieve things are expensive, though.”

 

“Oh yeah. They cost a fortune. _You_ could probably buy one, Harry, but most people could never afford one in their lives.”

 

Hermione looked fascinated, and as they waited for Hagrid to finish, she asked Antigone a bunch of questions about it until he finally opened the door and invited them in again.

 

~

 

It took his solicitor until the end of May to get Sirius's case sorted out at last so he could have the criminal trial he'd been denied the first time. On May thirtieth, he had a trial for the first time ever. Harry, Ron, and McGonagall had been ordered to attend to testify, and since they also had to go in to talk with Ms. Pennyroyal in her office on Diagon Alley the day before, they got both days off while someone took over McGonagall's classes. But as Ms. Pennyroyal mentioned on that first day, the trial could take two days or even longer, maybe even a week.

 

Harry's second impressions of her weren't much different from what his first impressions had been; he was unsure if this woman was up to the task of being Sirius's solicitor, even though she'd won Hagrid's case, as she looked far too kind and gentle to be effective at her job. Though the pattern of her movements regarding her briefcase and its contents testified that she at least knew how to file paperwork. And the way she talked with them all day seemed to indicate she knew what she was talking about, even if a lot of it went over his head.

 

Ron didn't have any nice clothes to wear for the trial, and Harry's nice clothes were Muggle and wouldn't be suitable for this situation, so Ms. Pennyroyal got them both some semi-formal robes for the trial. They weren't anywhere near as spiffy as Hagrid's had been, but then, they were just witnesses. The rest of the trip, aside from lunch at a restaurant in Diagon Alley, consisted of Ms. Pennyroyal and an Auror collecting Pensieve memories from all of them concerning the recent Peter Pettigrew incident, and other relevant memories.

 

Because they were all going together with Dumbledore, McGonagall came and got them after breakfast and escorted them to a changing room for them to get ready for the trial, then up to Dumbledore's office so they could all Floo to the Ministry. Harry almost didn't fit in the fireplace at first because his knapsack was in the way; he'd brought it because Ms. Pennyroyal had explained that the witnesses weren't allowed in until it was their turn to testify, and not allowed to leave the Ministry except for lunch in case they needed to be brought back up on the stand, so there would be a lot of waiting. Harry had brought some books and other things to entertain himself and Ron with.

 

When they popped out of the Floo into the Ministry, Dumbledore took off ahead of them and McGonagall used her wand to siphon the soot off of their nice clothes. As she did this, Harry looked around the atrium of the Ministry in awe. Ron, for his part, looked unimpressed, even bored; doubtless, he'd been here loads of times with his father. But that didn't spoil it for Harry. The atrium was huge, a splendid hall with a highly polished, dark-wood floor.  The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that were continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were paneled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft  _whoosh_ ; on the right-hand side, short queues of wizards were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

 

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur’s arrow, the tip of the goblin’s hat, and each of the house-elf’s ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode toward a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

 

“Move it!” shouted someone as they almost ran into Harry and Ron, who had been standing too near the Floo. The two boys quickly moved away, following McGonagall, who checked their clothes for soot again.

 

Since they were visitors, but had not come through the visitor's entrance, they had to get a visitor's badge from the security kiosk manned by a badly shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes who looked up as they approached and put down his  _Daily Prophet._

 

“I’m escorting two visitors,” said McGonagall, gesturing at the two of them with bobs of her head.

 

In a bored voice, the wizard waved something like a golden television aerial over them each, directing Ron and Harry to hand over their wands temporarily to be registered. He did this by putting them on a strange brass device that looked like a set of scales with only one tray. The device printed out the details of their wands, including how long they'd been in use, and they got their wands back, along with visitor's badges that had their names and 'Criminal trial' printed on them.

 

The bored wizard had just noticed Harry's scar when McGonagall whisked them away toward one of the lifts with the golden grilles.

 

“How come you didn't need to register  _your_ wand, Professor?” Harry asked curiously as they headed toward the lift.

 

“Because, Mr. Potter, as the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, I am a regular visitor here. They know me very well. Besides which, I have taught so long that most of these people would recognize me at once anyway.”

 

Harry nodded at this, and because of this, almost got knocked over when she suddenly stopped. Ms. Pennyroyal was waiting for them by the lift.

 

“Ah good, you're here. Follow me, please.”

 

They all got into the lift, and Harry silently watched the people and flying memos until they got down to the bottom-most level of the Ministry. The cool female voice that had been telling them the details of each floor said simply “Department of Mysteries” when they stopped and got off.

 

“As this is a fairly serious criminal trial, they're holding it down in one of the old courtrooms,” Ms. Pennyroyal explained. “Courtroom ten, in fact, and the lifts do not go down that far.”

 

True to her word, they had to go down a bunch of stairs until they got to a corridor where an unfamiliar wizard was standing guard over an open door, apparently stopping people to make sure only those here for the trial were allowed in. But once he saw their badges, he let them into another corridor, long and lined with benches and chairs.

 

Waiting at one of these benches was Professor Lupin.

 

“Harry, Ron, Professor McGonagall,” he said warmly, “come sit by me, will you?”

 

“Of course, Professor Lupin,” McGonagall said, and they did.

 

“Do you know why exactly they're having the trial down here, Lilith?” Lupin asked.

 

“Fudge cited the size as the primary concern. There will be a great many people here testifying, it seems.”

 

“Surely not  _that_ many?”

 

“Well, they also need the full Wizengamot for... certain kinds... of criminal trials. The charges are, after all, fairly serious.” The look on her face as she said this told them not to dare making serious/Sirius jokes.

 

“Anyway,” Ms. Pennyroyal continued, “you lot need to wait out here. There is a restroom down that way on the left. Don't go to the right, that door is usually locked. There is a drinking fountain down there as well if you need any water. Do not leave this corridor until I give you the go-ahead, you will need to be retrieved quickly when they call for you. They will wait if you're in the restroom, but do try not to take too long in there, okay?”

 

They all nodded their understanding.

 

“Good. Now I must go visit with my client. See you later!” She waved and bustled off.

 

The wait was boring and yet full of anxiety. Even with himself, Ron, and the two teachers there, not many words were exchanged, because everyone was anxious for how this would go. All of them knew that what they said in there would be critical to Sirius's freedom or lack thereof, and even though Ms. Pennyroyal was highly optimistic, that didn't mean they couldn't still say the wrong thing. Also, the prosecutor would be brutal, questioning everything he could, doing his best to get Sirius declared guilty, because that was his job. So Harry tried reading, but after a while he started noticing he was reading the same paragraph over and over again without taking in a word. It didn't help that Ron started playing Exploding Snap, so anxious himself that there were a great deal more explosions than usual. Harry put down his book and fidgeted with the necklace Luna had given him while he waited.

 

A dozen or more people came in a few at a time for several minutes, taking seats and relieving the monotony as they did, though once they were all settled, the most they contributed aside from even more tension was a few whispered conversations here or there.

 

Other people would come and go, probably clerks and other Ministry employees as well as solicitors. Ms. Pennyroyal kept coming in and out of both the corridor and the room the trial was in, often with other people, most notable of which was a pregnant woman dressed in the same navy robes as Ms. Pennyroyal. One time, Harry saw Ms. Pennyroyal come out of the room and almost run into an unfamiliar wizard, tall and dignified, with olive skin, black hair, and a goatee. Something about him reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy, even though they looked nothing alike.

 

When they passed each other, he and Ms. Pennyroyal nodded at each other politely with forced smiles. As soon as he wasn't looking anymore, Ms. Pennyroyal's expression grew dark with dislike and a surprising intensity. Before, she'd reminded Harry of a much younger and cleaner Professor Sprout, but now she reminded him more of a plump, female Professor Snape. At least, until her expression went back to its previous pleasantness.

 

It was impossible to tell if the trial had even begun yet, as they hadn't seen a judge or any Wizengamot members going into or coming out of the room, at least not by the main entrance. It seemed they had some private entrance, and the main entrance was for solicitors and witnesses, as they never saw any sign of Sirius, either.

 

Harry was still fidgeting with his necklace when a new group of people came into the corridor, and went right straight into the courtroom. One of them stood particularly out of the crowd, a curly-haired blond woman in magenta robes and ridiculous jeweled spectacles like something out of the 1950's. Her fingers had red nails so long they were basically talons, and she clutched a crocodile-skin handbag.

 

“Rita Skeeter,” McGonagall told him when she noticed who he was looking at. “Horrible woman, rarely a kind word for anyone. Writes the most horrible garbage, yellow journalism of the worst sort. Works for  _The Daily Prophet_ . Don't let her corner you into an interview, Mr. Potter. Just politely decline to comment if she asks you anything.”

 

“Understood. Thanks, Professor.”

 

At the tail end of the reporters was a familiar cross-eyed man in canary-yellow robes, his hair white as bleached bone but faintly silvery. Xenophilius Lovegood almost walked by Harry without stopping, but then did a double-take and beamed at Harry.

 

“Harry Potter, nice to meet you again! Luna keeps telling me all sorts of good things about you.”

 

“Thank you, sir. You here to cover the trial for The Quibbler?”

 

“Yes indeed, young man, yes indeed. I am quite excited to see whether or not the Ministry has yet uncovered the truth that young Mr. Black is in fact Stubby Boardman, lead singer of the Hobgoblins. The friend of mine who has been investigating that story hasn't uncovered nearly enough in her research so far, but the Ministry has resources we common citizens don't, so I remain optimistic!”

 

“Ah, okay,” Harry said. “Well, I'm glad to know at least _one_ trustworthy reporter will be in there to cover it. I haven't heard good things about Rita Skeeter.”

 

“Understandable, young man. She is, after all, a member of the Rotfang Conspiracy. I'd tell you about it, but I really must be going, now. Ta-ta, Harry!”

 

“Bye!”

 

Minutes passed, boredom set in. Time was doing this weird thing where minutes felt like hours, and time was getting harder to keep track of. But he knew from watching his watch obsessively that about ten minutes or so passed from the time the reporters went in to the time that Lupin was called in as the first witness.

 

Of course, that had been another brief blip in an otherwise boring day, and Harry went back to reading to try to pass the time. He ended up having to take one of the Calming Draughts he'd been given the night before, to use for the trial like Hagrid had at his hearing. This done, he was able to go back to reading.

 

He looked up when Lupin came back out and another wizard went in. Ron tried asking Lupin about it, and Lupin shook his head.

 

“We're not to discuss anything in there until after the verdict is handed out, Mr. Weasley,” he explained.

 

“Oh,” Ron said, who had apparently been reading a book about Quidditch, as he went back to it.

 

The rest of the day went much the same. An excruciatingly long time after Lupin came back from testifying, the court recessed for lunch, and Ms. Pennyroyal took them back to the restaurant in Diagon Alley for lunch before taking them back to the boring corridor outside the courtroom.

 

Hours more passed, and nobody was going into the courtroom via the only door Harry knew about. It was driving him mad, and he began to pace. He paced for an entire hour until, at three pm, Ms. Pennyroyal came out briefly.

 

“Given the agreed-upon lineup of witnesses for this afternoon, Professor McGonagall, you and the boys can head back to Hogwarts until tomorrow.”

 

“We have to come _back_?” Ron nearly shouted. He, too, had been pacing, but had stopped at her words. “We're not testifying today?”

 

“No, Mr. Weasley, not today. But yes, you'll all have to come back tomorrow.”

 

“Bollocks!”

 

“Mr. Weasley!” McGonagall snapped. “Do mind your tongue! We are still on school time, I can still take points from you if I feel I need to.”

 

“Sorry, Professor.”

 

“Well, see you three tomorrow!”

 

~

 

Neither Harry nor Ron were pleased to have to go back the next day, but they came prepared. This time, Ron had brought his wizard chess set, and he and Harry played chess while they waited. But almost as though the universe wanted to keep them off-balance, they only got through half a game when Ms. Pennyroyal came out.

 

“Harry, you'll be testifying this morning, in about half an hour. Because of that, and because there's nobody testifying ahead of you, you can come on in.”

 

“Do you have the photos of Pettigrew I gave you the other day in your office?”

 

“My business partner Valerie has them. Come on in, Mr. Potter.”

 

He sighed and got up, following her into the courtroom.

 

The courtroom turned out to be a large dungeon. The walls were made of dark stone, but the room was brightly lit by torches in brackets. The benches were all facing a chair with chains dangling from it, but another much more comfortable chair sat in front of it.

 

He saw Mr. Lovegood again, and they waved at one another. He wanted to sit next to the man, but Ms. Pennyroyal directed him away from there and over to a section of seating that was mostly empty, and well away from the press, especially Rita Skeeter, who was looking both predatory and disappointed.

 

Fidgeting with his necklace again, Harry waited for a half an hour in increasing anxiety. His palms were sweating, the parts of his body exposed to air were shivering with cold sweat. He took a Calming Draught, having forgotten before, and started to immediately feel better.

 

Everyone stood up all of a sudden, Harry rushing to stand, too. In filed Albus Dumbledore and fifty other people came in via an entrance in the back of the room, all wearing plum-colored robes – even Dumbledore. Every set of robes had an elaborately-worked silver W on their front. The Wizengamot witches and wizards spent several minutes talking and getting settled in their benches, which was the signal for everyone else to finally sit, too.

 

Once the Wizengamot members were settled, it didn't take long for Dumbledore – the head of the Wizengamot – to call the room to order with a few loud taps of a small black stone on some surface Harry couldn't see.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I believe we can begin now. This is, of course, the second day in the 12-years delayed trial of Sirius Black. Are the solicitors for the prosecution and the defense ready to proceed?”

 

The olive-skinned man with a goatee and a smug aristocratic manner stood up. “The prosecution is prepared, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Good, good. You may sit down, Mr. Rowle. Is the defense ready?”

 

Ms. Pennyroyal stood up, barely any taller than when she'd been sitting down, and beamed warmly at Dumbledore with a smile that made Harry think of fresh-baked apple pie for some reason.

 

“The defense is prepared, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Excellent. You may be seated, Ms. Pennyroyal.”

 

She nodded and sat down.

 

“Would you please call today's first witness, Ms. Pennyroyal?”

 

Still beaming at Dumbledore, she stood again, nodding cheerfully. “Yes, Chief Warlock, I would be delighted to do that. The defense calls Mr. Harry Potter to the stand.”

 

She was looking in his direction, and naturally everyone else in the room followed suit. Harry chose to look at Dumbledore, who was twinkling at Harry.

 

“Would Mr. Harry Potter please come to the stand now?” Dumbledore said.

 

Harry nodded, and stood up so abruptly that he banged his knee on the bench in front of him and nearly toppled over, just barely managing to keep his balance. With that graceful beginning, Harry felt his cheeks turn hot as he skulked up to the big, reasonably comfortable-looking chair for witnesses. A sudden memory from a stolen glimpse of an episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus about 'the dreaded comfy chair' made him smile a little as he went up, but he still felt like he was going to be sick.

 

“Please state your name for the record,” Ms. Pennyroyal said, her voice soothing to his frayed nerves.

 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he said, “Harry James Potter.”

 

“Excellent. You're doing fine, dear. You look thirsty, would you like some water first?”

 

“Yes please.”

 

She conjured him a cup of water, which he drank greedily.

 

“Good. Now, Mr. Potter, do you swear on your magic to tell the truth to the best of your ability in these proceedings?”

 

“I do ind--er... I do swear by my magic to tell the truth to the best of my ability in these proceedings.”

 

“Wonderful! Now we may proceed, as it were. Are you ready?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Excellent. Now, in yesterday's trial, it came to light that one Peter Pettigrew, supposed victim of an attack by one Sirius Black and presumed dead, is in fact alive. Unfortunately, he appears to have slipped away somehow, which is a shame, because his incarceration would have made this whole ordeal _so_ much easier. But we carry on. Mr. Potter, please tell the court, in your own words, what happened on Thursday the third of February?”

 

Harry closed his eyes, remembering, then opened them up and looked up at Ms. Pennyroyal's lips.

 

“Well, it's a little more complicated than that. There's backstory to it.”

 

“There's backstory to everything, Mr. Potter. We just need to know about the third of February, this year. But if you still feel you need to add backstory, please give us as succinct a summary of the backstory as possible.”

 

“Okay then. Well... okay, so first you have to know that I own a magical artifact made by my father, my godfather, and... and Peter Pettigrew, when they were all in school. It's called the Marauder's Map, and shows a map of the Hogwarts castle and grounds, and displays where everyone is, and their legal names. I'd been given it by someone I trust, on the day of the Hogsmeade visit just prior to the holidays.

 

“Then later, during the Yule holidays, in which I was staying at Hogwarts, I was looking at the Marauder's Map and noticed a name next to my friend Ron Weasley, but it wasn't his name. It was Peter Pettigrew. Now, I thought at first it was a glitch, because I thought like everyone did that Peter Pettigrew was dead. But, er... well, I guess I should have added that Sirius Black had sneaked onto the Hogwart's grounds in his animagus form of a large black dog. He and I had actually been acquainted for months, sort of. He was... well, I thought he was a stray dog, and he was so thin and pathetic looking, so I started feeding him. I even made him a dog house.”

 

Harry tried to ignore the talking that had arisen from this, as well as the scratching of several quills. He felt a headache start to form from all the noise.

 

“Ms. Pennyroyal, may I take a headache cure potion?”

 

She turned to Dumbledore questioningly. Dumbledore nodded. Harry gratefully swallowed one of his vials of potion. By the sound of it, several people were astonished that he already had one to hand.

 

“Ready to go on?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She gestured at him to go on.

 

“So yeah, he had plenty of opportunity to hurt me, but he didn't. It wasn't me he was after, it was Peter. But I'm getting ahead of myself. So, er... okay, so when I noticed Pettigrew on the Map, I was talking to Shadow – that's what I called Sirius when I thought he was just a dog – about the weirdness of it, and over the next few minutes, his agitation and oddly high intelligence even for a dog made me figure out who he was. He transformed, into a position where he was on his knees with his hands straight up in the air.

 

“Even though I'd been suspicious about the whole story of his supposed guilt for months, I was still wary. He did his utmost to validate my caution and to not come across as threatening. We, uh... he didn't feel comfortable so exposed in his human form out in the relative open of the copse of trees we were in, so I let him change back to a dog. We went to the Shrieking Shack, my wand on him the whole time, and I questioned him there, back in his human form.”

 

“Hmm... that was rather dangerous, wasn't it? You had no proof the name on the Map was genuine, no proof Sirius wasn't a killer.”

 

“Yes, it was dangerous. But I'd been hanging around him as a dog every morning and some nights after dinner for months. I wouldn't have stood a chance, he was so big and powerful as a dog. But he never made himself threatening, so on the strength of that, I trusted him enough to question him at wandpoint. Plus, I figured if I could handle Voldemort in my first year and again in my second year, as well as a giant basilisk in my second year, I could probably handle an unarmed man. It was a calculated risk.”

 

“Understood. So what happened after you questioned him?”

 

“His story made enough sense to me that I trusted him a little more. We tried making plans to catch Pettigrew, for most of January. It wasn't until I told my friend Luna Lovegood about the whole thing that events began to move forward again. She went with me to show the Map and Pettigrew's name to Professor Lupin, and he went straight to Dumbledore from there, with us. Then Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, Luna, and I came up with a plan to catch Pettigrew. We began our plan the next morning. And that brings us to the third of January.”

 

Having finally gotten to the meat of his testimony, Harry retold the story of the details of that day, how they'd tricked Ron into bringing Scabbers in, how they and Ron and Minister Fudge had witnessed Pettigrew being put back to his human form, as much as he could remember from the interrogation of Pettigrew, how he'd left Dumbledore's office after that, how he and Dumbledore had gotten outside just in time to cast patronuses at the attacking dementors, and finally how the cage had fallen, Pettigrew got free by turning into his rat form, and how he ran off in all the chaos. He did _not_ mention the prophecy Danzia had witnessed, as he didn't feel it was relevant.

 

Ms. Pennyroyal questioned him some more as the photos of Pettigrew that Harry had taken with Colin's camera were passed around the Wizengamot. Harry glanced at Rowle, and was pleased to note that he was looking displeased and a little ill, like he couldn't see a way to win if there were recent photos of the primary supposed murder victim.

 

When it was Rowle's chance to cross-examine Harry, the man stood up rather shakily, and took a moment to collect himself before approaching Harry.

 

“Mr. Potter, how is it that you just happened to have a headache cure potion on your person? Surely it isn't usual for someone your age?”

 

“Um...” Harry looked to Ms. Pennyroyal, who looked at Dumbledore. The headmaster didn't look pleased, but nodded for Harry to answer.

 

“Er, well... crowds and loud noises tend to overwhelm me. I get frequent headaches because of it.”

 

“I see. And how long has this been going on?”

 

“As long as I can remember. My guardians didn't believe my headaches were genuine. Not until I was in so much pain I got sick on their floors, anyway. Still, it remained such a difficult job getting any medicine from them that I eventually got a job mowing lawns for the neighbors to earn money to pay for pain relief medication.”

 

“Excuse me, but if I'm not mistaken, Muggles mow their lawns with machines that are extremely noisy. Wouldn't that be a bad choice of jobs for someone with sensitivities to sound?”

 

“The first time was very difficult for that reason, yes, but I earned enough to buy a pair of sound-muffling ear coverings in addition to pain relievers, and it was much easier from then on.”

 

“I see. And did your guardians ever take you to a Healer to find out the cause of these headaches?”

 

Harry laughed a little. “No, they never took me to a doctor – the Muggle equivalent of a Healer, not for the headaches. They only took me to the eye doctor to get glasses after I bumped into a few too many valuable things. Took ages for them to realize I wasn't lying about being nearly blind without glasses.”

 

“Chief Warlock, objection; what is the relevance of this line of questioning?”

 

“Indeed, I am curious too, Mr. Rowle. Is there relevance, or are you grasping at straws?”

 

Rowle actually paused to think, looking a little deflated by the time he was done. He looked around the room, including at Harry, then sighed.

 

“Sorry, Chief Warlock. I got carried away. The prosecution rests.”

 

“Understandable, Mr. Rowle. Does the defense have any more questions for the witness?”

 

“Not at this time, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Then the witness may leave the courtroom now.”

 

Harry nodded, got up, and left. As he got up, he noticed Rowle glaring at him and then at Ms. Pennyroyal, but Harry's experience with the Dursleys told him it was a glare that basically said 'I've been beaten and I know it. I'm not at all happy about it, though.' Which made Harry grin on his way out.

 

~

 

It was Ron's turn after his, and Ron seemed to take even less time than Harry for some reason. Of course, Harry rather suspected Rowle, who seemed like the kind of person who hated losing, had been trying some harebrained scheme to discredit his testimony, and that the objection to it had made him realize his plan was either flimsy or pointless or both. After all, the Ministry had veritaserum, and might have used it on Sirius. Plus, they had pensieve memories of Pettigrew from half a dozen or more witnesses which included the Minister of Magic himself and several aurors, as well as photo evidence of Pettigrew being alive. Harry admired Rowle for his dedication to his job, but there was so much evidence in favor of Sirius's innocence that Rowle wasn't going to win this one no matter what. At least, that's what Harry hoped.

 

After Ron, McGonagall was called in again for some reason. An hour after she returned, they had a lunch break. During the lunch break, Ms. Pennyroyal came to find them and told them all they could go back to Hogwarts for the day.

 

The next day they came in again, and this time waited until after lunch with none of them being called in to testify. Ms. Pennyroyal said it was unlikely they'd be needed, but she'd let them come in anyway because the overwhelming evidence of the pensieve memories from eight different witnesses and Harry's photos of Pettigrew was speeding things along nicely, and the verdict would likely be in at any point in the day.

 

And so it was at 4 pm on the afternoon of the third day of the trial that Ms. Pennyroyal called them in to hear the verdict. Everyone had filed out for a couple hours while the Wizengamot deliberated and watched the pensieve memories.

 

When they reconvened, and all the witnesses from the trial who cared to stick around were called into the courtroom to hear the verdict, Harry was very nervous for his godfather, despite how well it appeared to have gone. There had been parts of Harry's part of the trial in which he was certain that a few of the Wizengamot members didn't believe the whole story, including one short, ugly, toad-faced woman sitting next to the Minister, among others.

 

Sirius was brought out to sit in the creepy chair to wait for the Wizengamot members to finish deliberating. Its chains clinked a little but didn't bind him. When the Wizengamot warlocks filed into the room, Sirius looked anxious enough to faint or cry or something. Harry understood the feeling, sort of; he was feeling much the same way himself.

 

“We the Wizengamot have deliberated in the case of Sirius Black, and charges against him of turning traitor and giving up the Potters to Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “And so now, the final vote. All those in favor of further imprisonment...?”

 

The toad-faced woman and a couple other people raised their hands.

 

“And all opposed?”

 

Nearly everyone raised their hands.

 

“In a vote of 51 to 3 against, I – Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot – do declare Sirius Black not guilty of all charges. Sirius, you are now a free man.”

 

Ron, Harry, Lupin, and Sirius all cheered. Even McGonagall gave a quick whoop of delight before returning to her usual decorum, though Ms. Pennyroyal just looked like a kindly aunt whose favorite nieces and nephews had come for a visit. Sirius ran over at once to hug Harry, who ran to Sirius so they met in the middle, Sirius hugging him with such fervor that he picked Harry up off the ground, the two of them cheering.

 

“Congratulations, Padfoot!” Lupin said.

 

“Come here, Moony, join our hug,” Sirius said, grabbing Lupin with his other arm and pulling him into a hug.

 

“Oh this is great. Now I can start getting my life back on track in a serious way.”

 

“That went well,” Ms. Pennyroyal said, grinning at them. “One little speed bump early in the first day aside. I knew Dolores Umbridge wouldn't budge, the horrid woman, and the other two weren't surprising either, but still, that went even better than I'd hoped.”

 

“A hug for you too, Lilith, if you don't mind?”

 

“Oh sure, go ahead then,” she said, accepting the hug with a little pleased smirk.

 

“Thank goodness there were no dementors,” McGonagall said.

 

“Yes. As I said, the Ministry is very contrite about the whole thing. They felt it best, especially seeing as he turned himself in when he saw Pettigrew had been captured, and let them take him in even after the rat escaped.”

 

Harry's attention was then drawn to Rita Skeeter, who was approaching them. Sirius, Remus, and Lilith all turned to look where he was looking. Before she could open her mouth, the four of them said, in unison, “NO COMMENT!” and then left together, pausing to add Lilith's pregnant business partner to their group first.

 

~

 

Because they were curious, and because Dumbledore knew they would be, the next Saturday Harry, Ron, and McGonagall used Dumbledore's pensieve to view the rest of the trial. He poured in some memories from several vials first.

 

“This will be a somewhat truncated version of the trial. There are parts of the trial with testimony that is classified, and other parts which are merely boring and unnecessary to watch. So with that in mind, here are the highlights of the trial.”

 

The three of them stepped forward and touched the surface of the pensieve.

 

They fell through the darkness and landed perfectly in the familiar black-stoned dungeon courtroom. The benches were mostly empty, but for the three of them, and they weren't really there, of course, this being a memory. Harry looked to where he'd been seated while testifying, but only the creepy chained chair was there yet.

 

It was boring, waiting there for people to filter in, even more boring than the wait at the trial itself had been, because now they knew the verdict and thus had no more anxiety about it. Some of the people Harry didn't recognize, and didn't think he would recognize later either, mostly people working either for one of the solicitors or for the Ministry, clerks and so on. Harry fidgeted with the necklace Luna had given him while he waited.

 

After who knew how long, Ms. Pennyroyal came into the room, talked to several people for a while, then sat down. Not long after she got settled, her pregnant business partner came in as well. Ms. Pennyroyal greeted the pregnant witch with a nod and a grin. When the pregnant woman sat down next to Ms. Pennyroyal, she got out her own briefcase and papers, and the two witches sat quietly discussing something that Harry presumed was his godfather's case. Being a memory, he could have gone over there to eavesdrop, but it didn't seem very important now.

 

A few minutes later, prosecutor Rowle – the man with the olive skin, goatee, and Malfoy-esque demeanor – came in. He, too, had a briefcase, and was wearing similar navy-colored robes. He sat about ten feet away from Ms. Pennyroyal and the pregnant witch. Ms. Pennyroyal glared at his turned back with the same intensity he'd seen earlier when they'd passed in the corridor.

 

The memory blurred, time skipping ahead, and when it went back to normal, everyone was standing except for them as Albus Dumbledore and the rest of the Wizengamot entered, everyone making so much noise talking that Ron woke up out of a doze and looked bleary-eyed at them.

 

While the Wizengamot wizards and witches got settled, more people came in. Rita Skeeter was most prominent among them. She opened her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out an acid-green quill that she sucked on before setting it magically upright on some parchment. Harry guessed some of the others were reporters as well; they couldn't be witnesses, after all; he knew the witnesses had all been in the corridor outside.

 

Once the Wizengamot members were settled, Dumbledore called the room to order.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I believe we can begin now. This is, of course, the long-overdue criminal trial for Sirius Black, who was held without trial for 12 years in Azkaban. Are the solicitors for the prosecution and the defense ready to proceed?”

 

Mr. Rowle stood up, but before he could speak, the door opened again, and in came Mr. Lovegood.

 

“My apologies, Chief Warlock,” Mr. Lovegood said, finding a place to sit down.

 

Dumbledore twinkled at Mr. Lovegood, but Rowle glared at the interruption, still standing. When Mr. Lovegood finally sat down, Rowle turned to Dumbledore and spoke at last.

 

“The prosecution is prepared, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Good, good. You may sit down, Mr. Rowle. Is the defense ready?”

 

Ms. Pennyroyal stood up as well, giving her familiar warm, friendly smile.

 

“The defense is prepared, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Excellent. You may be seated, Ms. Pennyroyal.”

 

She nodded and sat down.

 

“Please bring forth the accused, Auror Williamson.”

 

Harry watched Williamson leave the room through a third entrance. A few moments later, he came back in with Sirius at his side. Harry was heartened to see that Sirius hadn't been bound. When he sat on the chair, the chains clinked a little on their own, but that was all. Williamson went to stand over by the entrance.

 

“Sirius Black,” Dumbledore said with a neutral tone of voice, “you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters during the war. How do you plead?”

 

“I plead not guilty of all charges, Chief Warlock.”

 

“As I expected,” Dumbledore said with an upward twitch of the corners of his lips. “Would you like to give your testimony under veritaserum at this time?”

 

“Yes I would, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Auror Williamson, please administer the veritaserum.”

 

Williamson nodded, and retrieved a small vial from one of the Wizengamot members before dropping several drops on Sirius's proffered tongue.

 

Sirius's gaze unfocused, and he looked a lot calmer than he had been all of a sudden. Mr. Rowle stepped up and asked Sirius many questions about the night Harry's parents had been killed, and about any previous Death Eater activity he may have engaged in. And, of course, about the deaths of all those Muggles which Pettigrew had framed him for. The story matched everything that Harry already knew about. Rowle tried his hardest to pick it apart, but didn't get very far. After all, Sirius answered everything completely truthfully. It was hard to argue with a man under the influence of veritaserum answering 'no' when asked point-blank if he'd been a Death Eater or in any way working for Voldemort or any of his followers. Rowle did, however, imply strongly that there really was no proof he _wasn't_ a Death Eater, beyond Sirius's word. He also called Sirius's character into question, though how this was going to help him when Sirius was under veritaserum, wasn't clear to Harry.

 

When the prosecution rested, Ms. Pennyroyal got up for cross-examination.

 

Her cross-examination wasn't terribly impressive to Harry. It re-emphasized some important points in favor of Sirius's innocence, but nothing new or dramatic was added. He was left underwhelmed, and confused at how she'd managed to get him off. Had the trial been that much of a breeze? The part he remembered of it, his own testimony, hadn't felt so easy to him.

 

When Sirius was done testifying, he was removed from the room. A much nicer chair was conjured for other witnesses.

 

Next up was Lupin, who was asked to swear an oath to be truthful, which he did, swearing by his magic that he would tell the truth in its entirety without leaving anything relevant out.

 

“Excellent, Mr. Lupin,” said Rowle, having stood up to question Lupin. “Now Mr. Lupin, is it true that you are currently working at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

 

“That is correct, yes.”

 

“And is it true that you are a werewolf?”

 

There was a surge of voices talking about this turn of events. Which was weird to Harry, as this information had already come out in Sirius's testimony.

 

“Order, order,” Dumbledore said, tapping his stone for attention. “Professor Lupin, please answer the question.”

 

“Yes, it's true I am a werewolf.”

 

Muttering, now, much quieter this time, as though people didn't want to get brought to task again.

 

“And is it true that you were, in fact, bitten as a young child?”

 

“That is true, yes.”

 

“I see. And is it also true that you attended Hogwarts as a child anyway, despite being a werewolf?”

 

“Yes, I did. And precautions were taken at the time to ensure I wouldn't be dangerous to anyone during my transformation.”

 

“Indeed? So Headmaster Dumbledore let a known werewolf stay in a school full of innocent children for seven years, and now he has let you teach there as well?”

 

Lupin looked like he was struggling to remain calm. “Yes,” he said. “Your baited wording aside, that is correct in essentials.”

 

“Pardon me, Chief Warlock,” interrupted Ms. Pennyroyal, “may I speak?”

 

“Yes, Ms. Pennyroyal, you may.”

 

“Thank you. While I'm sure the esteemed Mr. Rowle merely wishes to clarify the facts in this matter, I would like to ask he refrain from using emotionally-loaded words such as 'innocent children.'”

 

“Agreed,” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Rowle, please watch your wording.”

 

Rowle glared at Ms. Pennyroyal, but nodded politely at Dumbledore. “Agreed, Chief Warlock.”

 

“Also,” continued Ms. Pennyroyal, “I would like to remind everyone present that werewolves are only dangerous and contagious during the full moon, when they are transformed.”

 

“Indeed. You may be seated now, Ms. Pennyroyal. Mr. Rowle, please continue.”

 

“Thank you, Chief Warlock. Now Mr. Lupin, so you admit to being a werewolf, and to having been to Hogwarts as a student?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you are now a teacher at the school?”

 

“Yes. You already asked that, and I answered. I'm sure you're aware by now that the Defense Against the Dark Arts post is said to be cursed. So if you are worried, Mr. Rowle, don't be. I'll be leaving at the end of the year. I really only agreed to the job because of the curse in the first place; after all, with every teacher in that position for the last 22 years being forced away by the curse via scandals or even bodily harm, there aren't many left who will take the job, and I _did_ do very well on my Defense O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s.”

 

“I see.”

 

The rest of Lupin's question under Rowle went smoother for a while, Rowle getting the story from Lupin's point of view, all of it. Harry noted that Lupin and Sirius had both left out the little fact that they'd taken Lupin out onto the school grounds during the full moon, both making it sound like the three animagi had just spent time in the Shrieking Shack with Lupin in his werewolf form. Despite knowing the outcome already, Harry worried that this lie by omission would come back to haunt them.

 

At first, Ms. Pennyroyal's cross-examination mostly just reminded people of several important points, including that werewolves were only dangerous at the full moon. Then she asked him a number of questions about the measures taken to ensure he couldn't hurt anyone at school, and the details of the Shrieking Shack and the secret passage under the whomping willow were rehashed in detail. Then she asked about his school history, like grades, detentions (very few and far between, despite being friends with James and Sirius), and verified that he had been a prefect during school. Then she went through his history after school, including his work fighting against Voldemort, and an apparent lack of any incidents involving being a danger to others by being loose or discovered by errant Muggles.

 

When she was done, Rowle got up again and asked if she had any witnesses to verify Lupin's lack of incidents after school. She did, and soon, Lupin was stepping down, the witness's chair being filled by a member of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes department, head of the Werewolf Task Force, who were the ones to deal with the aftermath of werewolf attacks.

 

That man's questioning and cross-examination went pretty well, and were followed by another equally good testimony by Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office. Aurors were the ones who dealt with the werewolf attacks themselves, as opposed to the aftermath. Like the man before him, he was able to testify that there had been no werewolf attacks in any of the places Lupin had lived over the years. There _had_ been one incident many miles away from one of Lupin's residences, but that had been proven to have been caused by an escaped werewolf child. Anyway, nobody had died or been bitten during the incident, just some very scared Muggles running away from what they'd thought had been a rabid puppy.

 

At this point, Dumbledore called for a lunch-period recess. Before the memory could skip forward, McGonagall pulled them all out of the memory for their own lunch period.

 

When they went back to the memory later, it resumed where they'd left off.

 

Several members of a group called 'The Order of the Phoenix' were called to testify about Lupin's anti-Voldemort work. First up – coming from the entrance of the room that Sirius and the aurors had used – was a very alarming-looking man, covered head to toe in scars, one leg made of wood, and two differently-colored eyes, one of which was artificial, bright blue, and never stopped moving, looking around at everything and everyone. It even occasionally rolled up in a way that looked like he was trying to see out the back of his own head.

 

“Mad-eye Moody!” Ron said. “He's a famous Auror, half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. But he's retired now, and paranoid, they say.”

 

The man, his voice gruff and his mannerisms gruffer, testified as to Lupin's positions and activities for the Order. Occasionally the memory would skip ahead in his testimony, a bit like a skipping phonograph record or a spliced VHS tape to keep sensitive information from Ron's and Harry's ears.

 

Even Dumbledore testified, giving control of the proceedings temporarily to Fudge until he was done. His own testimony went much the same as Moody's had.

 

Harry thought it was ludicrous that Lupin had to defend his credibility like this, but he knew the testimony of a werewolf was never taken very seriously, and Ms. Pennyroyal wanted to make as strong a case as possible for him being a reliable witness.

 

And then, for reasons unknown, when Professor McGonagall was testifying, Ms. Pennyroyal finished off the questioning with questions about Sirius's sordid history of mischief in school. It went on for over an hour, making Harry more and more curious why she appeared to be working against her own client. He wasn't the only one, either; everyone in the room looked confused to some degree or another, but nobody objected to it.

 

When McGonagall left the room, Dumbledore turned to Rowle.

 

“Mr. Rowle, who do you wish to call for your next witness?”

 

Mr. Rowle grinned smugly, and said, “I would like to call Severus Snape as a witness.”

 

Uproar in the courtroom again. Even Ron and Harry were standing up, booing Snape as he came in via the Auror entrance, despite the fact nobody could hear them in this pensieve memory aside from McGonagall, since they knew this couldn't be good.

 

Once Dumbledore got the court back in order, Mr. Rowle swore-in Snape and turned to him with a smile.

 

“Mister Snape,” Rowle said, “Is it true that you work at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as Potions Master?”

 

“That is correct, Mr. Rowle,” Snape said with an slight smile that boded ill.

 

“And is it true you went to school with Mr. Remus Lupin?”

 

“Indeed I did,” Snape said, his expression turning sour.

 

“Did you two get along with one another?”

 

“No, we did not.”

 

“How would you characterize your relationship with Mr. Lupin?”

 

“Not good. He was friends with one James Potter and one Sirius Black, who both bullied me relentlessly in school.”

 

Harry glared at Snape at this accusation.

 

“And did Mr. Lupin join in this bullying?”

 

“No. But neither did he do anything to stop them. He did not even stand up to them, the coward.”

 

“How do you feel about Mr. Lupin?”

 

“Loathing. I despise the man.” His face looked angry and sour in equal measure.

 

“Just for not standing up for you?” Rowle said in a fake-incredulous tone.

 

“No. Something far worse.”

 

“And what was it that Mr. Lupin did to make you hate him so?”

 

“It is... a bit involved, the story.”

 

“Please, we are eager to hear the tale.”

 

Snape nodded. “I was very curious in school where Mr. Lupin went every month. I had gone so far as to follow him and the nurse when he was taken out to the whomping willow, which Black and Potter found out about. One day in our fifth year, Sirius Black told me how to get past the whomping willow to see what Mr. Lupin was up to in there, and not suspecting the danger, I went in after Mr. Lupin that night, thinking I would catch him at something embarrassing. James Potter, finding out what Black had done and knowing he and his friend would be expelled or worse if I died, took off after me and pulled me out just before I got inside the Shrieking Shack. But I saw Lupin transformed as a werewolf, so I knew what he was. The headmaster swore me to secrecy, but since it is now known he is a werewolf, there is no reason to keep that promise anymore.”

 

“So you're telling me that Mr. Black, at the age of 15, sent you, victim of his years of bullying, to a certain death or being turned into a werewolf yourself, and only the self-serving actions of Mr. James Potter saved you?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Rowle, that is correct.”

 

Ms. Pennyroyal stood up. “Chief Warlock?”

 

“Am I to presume you object to Mr. Rowle's use of emotionally-loaded words?”

 

“Yes, Chief Warlock.”

 

“My apologies, Chief Warlock,” Rowle said with a smirk. “Allow me to rephrase. Mr. Snape, is it correct that at the age of 15, Sirius Black sent you after Mr. Lupin on a full moon night, knowing full well he was a werewolf and that you could die or be bitten?”

 

“Yes, that is correct.”

 

“And is it also true that, upon hearing of what Black had done, James Potter saved your life in the nick of time?”

 

Grinding his teeth for a moment first, Snape finally answered, “Yes, Mr. Rowle, that is correct again.”

 

Mr. Rowle grinned and sauntered up jauntily to the front of the Wizengamot. “No further questions, Chief Warlock.”

 

The uproar of the crowd returned. Harry noticed Rita Skeeter's magical quill going so fast across the parchment it was in danger of catching something on fire. Then he turned to look at Ms. Pennyroyal, whose face was one of unsurprise and – strangely – unconcern.

 

Harry just felt confusion, now. Well, that and a headache from all the noise in the faintly echoing courtroom; it sure was a noisy memory. He downed one of the vials of headache potion he always carried with him, and tried to think why Ms. Pennyroyal seemed so unconcerned by testimony that undid all of her work bolstering Lupin's reputation and certainly made Sirius look like a murderer.

 

“Would Ms. Pennyroyal like to cross-examine the witness?” Dumbledore asked.

 

“Why yes, I would. Thank you, Chief Warlock.”

 

When Rowle saw the still-cheerful look on her face and the bounce in her step, he started to look worried, like he'd missed something and was trying to figure out what it was. But whatever was causing her to remain buoyant was not immediately apparent.

 

“Professor Snape,” she said to him with a sweet smile, making his own face falter like Rowle's had, “I'm curious to know the details of the conversation in which Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black were talking about sending you into the maw of a transformed werewolf. Will you enlighten us, please?”

 

Snape blinked, looking confused. He turned to Rowle, who looked just as baffled, and shrugged.

 

Turning back to Ms. Pennyroyal, he said, “I am not sure what you mean.”

 

“Well, you said Mr. Black told you how to find your way into Mr. Lupin's hiding place. You also said you loathed and despised Mr. Lupin. So clearly you must have overheard young Mr. Black discussing his plan for you with Mr. Lupin. I would like to hear the details of that conversation.”

 

“You are mistaken. I heard no such conversation.”

 

“Truly? Now it is _I_ who am curious what you mean, sir.”

 

Snape, who looked like he'd just eaten a rotten egg, said carefully, “I never heard anything to indicate that... Mr. Black had ever discussed his plan with anyone.”

 

“Can you please describe for me, then, young Mr. Black's demeanor when he told you this?”

 

“His... demeanor?”

 

“Oh you know, where was he sitting, how was he positioned, where this conversation took place, and his apparent mood and body language when he told you how to get into the whomping willow passageway, that sort of thing.”

 

He looked to Rowle again, who looked confused himself and indicated with a wave that Snape should continue.

 

Snape sighed, and turned back to Ms. Pennyroyal. “As I recall, it was a study period. I was having a discussion with Lucius Malfoy about Mr. Lupin, wondering aloud where he went every month, and why it required going through a secret passage. Sirius Black was at a nearby desk, leaning back in his chair, his feet on the desk. I believe Mr. Peter Pettigrew was there as well.”

 

“Was Mr. Lupin present?”

 

“He was not present. He had just been pulled out of study hall, which is why I brought the subject up to Lucius.”

 

“What about Mr. James Potter?”

 

“He had a different class that period, I believe. Something on one of the upper floors.”

 

“Thank you. You may continue with your recollection.”

 

“Indeed. Well, Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Black had been discussing something of their own, I believe, but stopped when I started talking with Lucius. As I said before, Black was quite at his ease, not doing any schoolwork, which was a common enough sight. He was one of those people who always managed to coast through school while the rest of us studied hard every day, or at least it appeared so to me and others I spoke with. Anyway, he was still leaning back in his chair as before when he told me, casual as you please, that if I was really so curious about where Mr. Lupin went, all I had to do was touch a knot on the base of the tree to freeze the willow long enough to get through the entrance, which is a gap in the roots. I used the information that very night, in fact.”

 

“Would you say that young Mr. Black was relaxed, perhaps even bored at the time, or would it be more correct to say he looked conspiratorial, perhaps conspiring with Mr. Pettigrew?”

 

“I would say he was relaxed and bored. I do not know what was said in his conversation with Pettigrew, but from previous experience with them and from Black's body language at the time, I would say Pettigrew was gabbling on about something that was supremely boring to Mr. Black. That Black was simply letting Pettigrew prattle on because he had nothing better to do. That is, until he overheard my conversation with Lucius.”

 

“I see. And did you see Mr. Lupin at any point between then and when you began to follow him later?”

 

“No, I did not.”

 

“Were there any other classes after that study period?”

 

“No. It was right before dinner.”

 

“Was Mr. Lupin present for dinner?”

 

Snape glared at her in annoyance. “No. I did not see him at all between the time he was pulled out of study hall and the time I began following him to the willow, as I already said. He was ill, probably in the Hospital Wing, because the school nurse accompanied him to the whomping willow, and it was from the Hospital Wing that I began to follow them.”

 

“Was Mr. James Potter at dinner?”

 

“Yes, he was at dinner. And before you ask, so was Mr. Black.”

 

Without any obvious changes to her expression or tone of voice, something about her pleasant demeanor turned predatory then.

 

“Are you saying that, to the best of your knowledge, Mr. Lupin had no idea Mr. Black was going to endanger your life by sending you after him on the full moon, likely did not even  _see_ Mr. Black himself after Black's conversation with you as he was ill at the time, and that in fact, Mr. Black's instructions to you were likely – by the sound of his demeanor – the result of a spur-of-the moment decision by a  _teenage boy_ who – according to Professor McGonagall's testimony – had a long history of making rash decisions and getting into trouble for them?”

 

If Snape had looked sour before, it was nothing to how he looked now, and Rowle looked even worse. “Yes,” Snape said, barely intelligible because he was saying it through teeth that were grinding audibly even from Harry's distance away.

 

She smiled sweetly. “Sorry, what was that? We didn't quite hear your answer.”

 

“I said yes. To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Lupin did not know,  _could not have known_ what Black was planning, because Black's decision was likely a whim, and because I acted on his information that very night.”

 

“Oh you did? I see. Very enlightening, Professor Snape. And while I have you here, may I ask if you think 15-year-olds are mature enough to fully understand the consequences of their actions?”

 

Snape folded his arms, glowering. “No, they are not.”

 

“Yes, that does appear to be the consensus of most of society, since witches and wizards cannot be tried as adults until they are at least 17. No more questions, Chief Warlock,” saying that last with a musical quality to her voice, and sat back down.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Pennyroyal. We will now adjourn for lunch, if there are no objections.”

 

~

 

Next in the memory, they heard testimony from Cornelius Fudge, who had been present at the incident where Pettigrew had killed all those Muggles and faked his death, as well as for Pettigrew's unveiling in Dumbledore's office recently. Also testifying were Bartemius Crouch, who had been the head of the magical law enforcement back then. Then Dumbledore himself testified that though he'd thought 12 years ago that Sirius had been the Potters' Secret Keeper, the people subject to the Fidelius Charm were ultimately the ones to decide, and since the plan had been intended to try to fool Voldemort into going after Sirius to torture him instead, they wouldn't have wanted to let anyone but him and Pettigrew know.

 

Harry wasn't pleased that they had to rewatch his testimony, but Ron and McGonagall hadn't seen it. Harry then saw Ron's testimony, which had not been terribly interesting; mostly just verifying what others, like Harry, had said.

 

Everyone else who'd been present to see Pettigrew in Dumbledore's office, including the two Aurors who'd been present when he escaped, testified as well, but these ended up skipping a lot because they were boring and repetitive. When the memory started playing normally again, they saw Ms. Pennyroyal – looking very smug – use her wand to play part of Pettigrew's interrogation for the whole room, the large size of the pensieve she used to do it making him appear nearly twice life-size, as he told the room about the Dark Mark that Death Eaters were branded with. His image pulled up its sleeve and showed them the mark, which was a faint pinkish-red outline, but was  _just_ visible.

 

Still looking very pleased, she then called Sirius back to the stand. When he was sworn in again, she asked him to roll up both sleeves all the way. Several Aurors and several members of the Wizengamot examined his arms and then his naked torso for nearly 20 minutes with both eyes and wands before declaring he had no Dark Mark.

 

Then the memory stopped, since the deliberations would have been classified and boring anyway, and because they'd already seen the verdict. The three of them went flying up through darkness and landed upright back in Dumbledore's office.

 

“How the ruddy He—ck,” Ron said, catching himself in time, “did the Ministry not know for 22 years that Death Eaters have Dark Marks on their arms?”

 

“I asked Dumbledore about that myself when I spoke with him earlier, after he told me about it,” McGonagall said. “He said he believed there was powerful magic woven into the thing, that made it impossible to talk about or show to anyone who didn't already know about it, and that the only reason Pettigrew was able to tell them about it at all was the fact You-Know-Who is powerless and the Dark Marks nearly invisible now, as well as a double dose of veritaserum. Plus, of course, nobody ever thought to look on their arms. Who would have thought the clever You-Know-Who would have marked his followers so plainly? It's absurd and illogical to do so, after all.”

 

Whatever anyone was going to say next was interrupted when Ms. Pennyroyal came into Dumbledore's office.

 

“That was amazing, Ms. Pennyroyal!” Harry said. “I was confused for a lot of it, but looking back, I saw you were playing a game of chess with the whole affair. Tell me, were you by chance a Slytherin in school?”

 

She chuckled. “I don't know whether to be pleased or offended by that, Mr. Potter, but no, I was in Hufflepuff.”

 

“Really? Well it wasn't meant as an offense. I have several Slytherin friends, and they're great, so I meant it as a compliment.”

 

“Then that is how I shall take it, Mr. Potter. But you know, between you and me, the Hat  _did_ offer me Slytherin. And I might have taken the offer, too, if a very close friend of mine hadn't already been sorted into Hufflepuff.”

 

“Cool. The Hat offered me Slytherin, too. But my friend Hermione was in Griffindor, and given that House's reputation, I didn't fancy the complications being a Slytherin would bring me, so I chose Griffindor instead.”

 

“Ah, well, I am at least glad you made friends with some Slytherins. I had a few Slytherin friends myself, in school and later. Of course, the Slytherin/Hufflepuff connection goes back centuries, well before Slytherin started being viewed negatively after Voldemort began infecting it with his filth.”

 

They talked a little bit more, but Ms. Pennyroyal was there to see Dumbledore, so it didn't last long before they left to go tell their friends about the trial.

 

_~_

 

After Sirius's trial, they later found out in the papers, the Wizengamot had taken another hour to decide on a time for a trial for Peter Pettigrew  _in absentia._ During  _that_ trial, in which Pettigrew was found guilty, they decided they would also repeal Pettigrew's “posthumous” Order of Merlin, which they did. Soon after that, wanted posters for Pettigrew began going up in places, and there was another front-page article in the paper about Pettigrew's escape.

 

Lupin did in fact resign at the end of the year, and wouldn't be coming back because Rita Skeeter spread to the whole country that Lupin was a werewolf, and the parents weren't happy with a werewolf teacher, even if most of their kids were. Sirius invited him to stay at his house for a while, convincing him only by saying, finally, that Lupin could pay rent once he got a job.

 

With help from hired hands and from Kreacher the house elf, Sirius had gotten his house ready in time to welcome Harry in, but of course Harry had to stay with the Dursleys for a week to recharge the blood protection wards. But he was very much looking forward to that. How Kreacher and Sirius had made up, Sirius didn't know, but Sirius planned to hire Dobby as well, since Kreacher was so old that he had maybe a decade or two left before he'd die.

 

They never did find out how Hermione had gotten to all her classes, and it didn't seem likely they would, as she had dropped out of Divination and Muggle Studies and so would have a normal schedule next year.

 

And so, Harry was very happy on the train back, despite Pettigrew's escape, because he was looking forward to having someone to call family, and really feel like they were family, for the first time in his life.

 

 

Endnotes: Ah, the end of another year. This story will continue in Autistic Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

 

I didn't notice until writing this chapter that I made a mistake in book 1, and said Ron got sorted into Griffindor before Harry did, which didn't happen in canon. Whoops! Oh well, I can fix it later.

 

In response to a message I received on FanFiction.net, I felt it necessary to repeat the information in that message here:

 

Yes, Autism Speaks is a hate group. Among other things, they're trying to find a cure for autism, and they have a long history of paying for the defense attorneys for parents who murdered their autistic kids, and of their board members talking about murdering their autistic children _in front of their autistic children_ on video.

 

You can help stop them by spreading the word of them being a hate group, and send people here instead: http://autisticadvocacy.org/

 

Here's more information: <https://thecaffeinatedautistic.wordpress.com/2013/03/05/why-i-am-against-autism-speaks-and-you-should-be-too-2/>

 

While I'm on the subject, that horrible puzzle-piece ribbon is the symbol of the Autism Speaks hate group. If you wouldn't have a confederate battle flag or a Nazi flag on display, you shouldn't display that puzzle-piece ribbon either.


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